


Your Tooth And Eye

by slyfoxcub



Series: Constellations [3]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Contrived Lore Explanations, Fenrisian Culture, Gen, Horus is still Adorable, Identity Issues, Leman Russ Origin Story, Leman is an Angry Smol, Primarchs Being Brothers, Vikings - Freeform, Younger!Primarchs AU, and spelunking, headcanons, names are important, now with giant squid, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyfoxcub/pseuds/slyfoxcub
Summary: Fenris is a Death World made of volcanoes, glaciers, ever-shifting pack ice and beasts that consider humans merely another type of prey.It’s a good thing that he isn’t human, then.
Relationships: Constantin Valdor & The Primarchs, Leman Russ & Horus, The Emperor of Mankind & The Primarchs
Series: Constellations [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549192
Comments: 95
Kudos: 114





	1. isa

**Author's Note:**

> Do not use this fic as a source for an accurate depiction of Viking society(despite the elements of such I have included). Viking society was shaped by the environment and Fenris is not like Norway and other various countries. At all.
> 
> This story was also meant to be primarily humorous, but I am apparently incapable of NOT writing feelings.

Did they remember?

Freki and Geri loped at his side, to the left and to the right. His brothers. Raised on the same milk, sheltered in the same den. Yet, not brothers.

There are no wolves on Fenris.

Was that why? Why their mother had looked at him and taken him in for her own? Was there something, deep down inside, that looked at bare skin, two legs and thought ‘like me’?

It had been good enough for her; good enough for Freki and Geri. But not for him.

And then she was dead. All of them dead, save for Freki, Geri and himself. Killed by humans.

He remembers screaming, the light flickering cold and round as she crashed onto her side into the bloody and slushy snow. Her chest heaved and rattled, but she wasn’t even given time to breathe her last before a knife licked across her throat.   
Cheers went up, weapons and eyes glittering triumphantly.

He...he couldn’t…

They’d raided the humans first, killed their people and eaten their food stockpile. They were a threat. She had told them to run; the pack must survive. Even if the pack was just the three males now.

But.

It  _ hurt _ .

And he wanted them to know it.

The first of them was dead before the others realized what was happening. This was no hunt, no dispute of strength or territory with another pack. He did not want a quick takedown. He did not want a show of dominance. He wanted pain.

In his grief, he did not confirm kills.

They swarmed him, hemmed him in, like a flock of blood finches. They cut him with knives that stung more than they should and made colours swim and his arms feel heavy. 

They did not cut his throat.

They bound him hand and foot, and as dawn broke and illuminated the carnage, the whispers of  _ maleficarum _ turned to  _ curiosity _ ,  _ pity _ ,  _ reassurance _ .

They looked at bare skin, two legs and thought ‘like us’.

They took him back, took his four-legged brothers back as well, gave him a name, offered him a place in their own pack, their own Clan and Kingdom.

But his teeth, nose and ears were a little too sharp, his frame too fleet and strong and...two hearts within his chest.

There are no wolves on Fenris, but Leman wasn’t human either.

Easing from his reverie with the smoothness of one accustomed to working his mind while his body travelled, Leman estimated that they’d come far enough. In the shelter of a tor, pines jutted from the ground, stunted and fat with glittering snow. Every now and then, a wind howled or a branch disgorged it’s burden with an echoing whumph. Fog hung faintly in the shadows, and the lying snow was dry enough to be scattered into the air with the slightest gust of air. This was the time, when the sun hung right overhead and erased every shadow until the world hovered flat and empty, that birthed paranoia and strange tales. This, was a prime hunting ground.

Slipping back into his old ways like a well-worn cloak, a volley of huffs and subtle movement of the shoulders told his two brothers what to do. 

And not a moment too soon. Ignoring the ebbing of light and white, he closed his eyes tight shut and instead listened closer to the swish of a long tail sweeping away footprints and the tiny hiss of breath escaping an open-mouth maw.

Sound, smell and just general awareness and instinct were the only ways to hunt this creature, and even then, humans and other predators found it incredibly hard.   
Only one man, and two half-grown wolves? Not much of a fight. And these beasts were opportunistic to the last.

Good thing Leman wasn’t a man.

(oOo)

“Where is Leman?” Thengir bellowed as he strode into the longhouse, throwing off his furs as he stepped from biting chill into the warmth of a roaring fire-pit. Everyone was gathered for late-meal inside the communal building, plates filled with meat, dried fruits and dark green cakes. Chatter and song quickly died away as the eaters hesitantly looked about, searching for their erstwhile kinsman. From the expressions of some, they hadn’t noticed the lack of the usually boisterous and loud presence at all.

From the silence, Thorgrin Red Arrow half-rose from his seat. “Jarl, I saw him standing by the boundary stone early this morning. I hailed him from a distance before going on my way, and thought nothing of it.”

Thengir growled and bit back a curse. “So he left, then. Again. World Mother give me strength.’”

Seeing his king become overcast with exhaustion and exasperation prompted one of the generals to speak up. “He will return, Jarl, it is certain. He always has before, and the Lord of Winter and War is not one to be deterred easily, even if he is only ten years of age.”

“Ay e!” Another general, Snorri Burning Rock, called out. “He earned his Name for sending those damned Vultures packing five years ago, did he not? I doubt there’s a beast that walks that could fell him.”

As if Mother Fenris Herself had heard the words, there was a battering at the Hall’s entrance. A large, fur-covered shoulder pushed open the door, for the hands which followed were holding something that glittered and bent in the firelight, twisting fragments of dark wood and yellowed stone. It was a shimmering hole, seeming like a rent in the torso of the man who cradled it in his arms.

The gathered, man and woman alike, broke into incredulous murmurs. Many spat to ward off the works of perceived Maleficarum, but Thengir resisted the urge to do the same.

“Leman.”

Lighted eyes the colour of yellowed bone and a sharp-toothed grin were his reply, before a curt bow of the head was given and the cursed load was pitched to the floor with a surprisingly audible crash.   
“Jarl. I thought you might want to know what a Doppelgangrel does - or doesn’t - look like.”

Curiosity aroused in spite of himself, Thengir looked. The corpse was still a warped reflection, but it was in a shape that picked out four legs and a tail. Indeed, the claws themselves were fully visible, and so was a long furless muzzle of leathery black skin filled with serrated teeth. Everything in between was still an illusion.

"How did you kill it?"

A shrug. "I couldn't see it well, so I just closed my eyes and used my nose and ears. Nothing to it." Unspoken went the fact that Leman's senses went far beyond human.

Burning Rock was the first to break the silence; with a bark of laughter that rang around the rafters. “Hah! Was I not saying? The Lord of Winter and War is without match! Truly, he stands above us all!”

He was not looking for it, so Thengir did not see the sudden flicker of loneliness ghost across Leman’s face. Instead, he saw only the edges of healing wounds that looked months old but weren’t there yesterday.

The same. It was always the same things. Things that were neither man nor beast.

Reassured, those in the audience swarmed the open area, eager for a glimpse and touch of Leman's latest prize and drawing him into telling his tale and boisterous laughter and praise.

Thengir pretended to be just as enamoured, but instead chose to keep an eye on the lithe grey forms of Freki and Geri, lounging by the doors. When Leman noticed the scrutiny and caught his eyes, Thengir tried to affect pride and joy, but knew that the act didn't fool his adoptive son for even a second.

Such was the commotion, however, that Thengir did not get a moment of privacy with Leman until much later.

“You left before I could speak with you.”

Leman only grunted non committedly, nursing a half-tankard of ale. One of his wolves let out a sneeze.

Thengir, knowing that berating his son would only start a conflict he did not want, let the disrespect go. “As you know, the time is nearly upon us for the Althing. I want you to accompany the harvest ships this time, and I shall meet you when the two fleets join up at the mountains.”

The longer that Leman’s presence was postponed, the better, actually. The Althing was for discussion, not dispute, but Leman had given many a reason to see him discredited. Harvest ships often arrived late, after the majority of decision-making was over, so the delay would provide a buffer until things could be settled.

A huff. “Shame. Would rather keep my feet on solid ground as long as possible.” Nevertheless, Leman rose from his seat and picked out one scroll from the many in the wall cubby with the absolute certainty of one who had picked it out from it’s fellows many times before. With practiced ease, he unrolled the parchment on the table and pinned it out with the weighted figurines kept aside for such a purpose. “You’ll have to show me the planned course.”

Despite being somewhat off-put by the unconcern showed, Thengir diverted his attention to the map. “Hm. Setting out in two days, you will make your way around Grimnir’s Rock, then across Skadi’s Gulf. Stop at the shallows in the North-East to gather laverkelp, then visit the coves and bays to hunt the Hel-seals that will be using them to wean their young. Watch out for hunting Kraken, there’ll be hungry and vicious newborns hunting Hel-seals and each other.   
Once your holds are filled, you’ll have to tack against the winds and around the Ymir Archipelago to take the lowland delta here before trekking a few days to reach the Althing. Clear?”

“Got it,” Leman nodded. “And, this way, I won’t be able to cause an upset at the Althing just by existing, hm?”

Something bristled in the air, laid out by the blunt, off-hand retort. Until...

“Besides!” Leman laughed, smiling wide and open and befanged and completely devoid of deceit. “Never hunted Kraken before!”

Stomach sinking, Thengir tried to quash the  _ absolutely insane idea _ . “No, Leman no, just go for the Hel-seals on the shore, don’t get blood in the water or you’ll start a feeding frenzy and get the ships ripped apart regardless of how protected the hulls are.” But Leman was still laughing as he made to leave the room, Freki and Geri sinuous around his heels. “Don’t go hunting Kraken, Leman, you’re out of your league!”

Leman paused on the threshold, throwing back a smirk. “You forget, Father, that I have yet to find a league to be in.”

He left on that parting remark, leaving his adoptive father to the empty room and an unrolled map.

Silence held for one breath, two.

Then Thengir let out a bone-deep groan, sinking into a chair. The same. It was always the same.   
Leman would disappear for a day, sometimes several, without warning. Only to return dragging the carcass of some great beast, to much adulation and praise. What was his plan? It was not born from food or other necessities, that was certain. Glory then? Did he want the popularity, the accord of the rest of the Russ? He’d had it for years, ever since he defended the settlement from that Vulture Clan raiding party, the battle where he’d earned his Name.   
That had been an unpleasant shock; leaving Leman in charge of the defense while Thengir, the council and many warriors attended the Althing, only to return to the scene of a massacre. Leman rubbing drying blood from his face and twin wolves with muzzles dripping with gore.

Thengir had thought it was the exhilaration, the confidence from earning a Name, but he had come to terms with it now; the Name was apt. Lord of Winter and War. A force of nature; no forgiveness and no morta limit. A creature of only war; there was no dwelling on family, friendship, the comforts of peace. A Lord; there was something that made men bow to his will, a child of strange origin and stranger abilities soothing and shaping fright into fight with his mere presence.

But whatever, the reason, however strong Leman was, he wasn’t stupid. Not in the slightest. He wouldn’t start hunting Kraken during their hatching season, when feeding frenzies were easy to provoke and could rip apart even a Dragonship, when the creatures in question were exceedingly active, agile, hungry and capable of surviving out of water for extended periods of time.

No, he wasn’t that stupid.

(oOo)

Apparently he was.


	2. laguz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leman yells at a squid.
> 
> Leman no.

Holger Sun In Flight felt his stomach sink right through his boots and down to the hull of the ship. “Oh, Mother Fenris, no.”

His watchman, Bor White Gull, wordlessly and solemnly deposited the fragment of wood into his hands.

It was a carved wolf figurehead, etched with runes that asked for protection and a safe journey. But the patterns and what was left of the dye marked it as their missing ice-boat.

The ice-boat that Leman had taken.

“Did you see-” Holger stopped himself before he could finish the foolish question. A body would have been consumed by now, especially here. The grey, stony bulk of Kraken Island lurked like a sea-mist, in the near distance, shot through with the shattered remains of regurgitated ships and littered with half-sunken cuttles at least the size of their own Dragonship.

“We cannot stay any longer,” Bor said, somewhat testily rubbing the bruise on his head where he had been knocked out. “It was a massive risk just coming here.”

That was the truth. While the young kraken hatched from sacs laid in the shallows to feast and brawl, it was this sunken mountain where the adults lurked. 

Some said(whispered) that the Father Of All Kraken, Consort to Mother Fenris Herself, slept at its base. Or, alternatively,  _ was _ the base.

Was it true? Maybe. Maybe not. But the general consensus was that it never hurt to be cautious.

And Leman. Leman Russ. All of ten years old for all that he wore the shape of a grown man, had thrown  _ caution _ to the frigid wind  _ entirely _ .

Oh, he had not broadcast his intention to hunt Kraken, but he hadn’t hidden it either. Everyone had just assumed that he had his sights on one of the many spawn that roamed the bays. Perhaps to grab one from the water and spear it on the deck, so blood would not ignite a feeding frenzy.

Not to knock out the watchman, steal an iceboat and leave a note saying that he was heading for Kraken Island to catch a grown one. Holger would very much like to scream. Instead, he settled for silently and vehemently cursing Leman’s entire ancestral line. And he couldn't even curse Leman's descendants, because now the boy was dead and digested there wouldn’t be any.

Still, at least Leman would have gone down fighting, but that was a cold comfort.

After all, as the Captain, it was Holger's responsibility to report any lost crew to the Jarl. 

He'd have to break the news to Thengir about the death of his son and heir.

No, first thing first; get the cargo and everyone else safely to the Althing.

At least Leman would have provided a distraction for them to get out of Kraken territory-

Holger cursed himself in admonition; it was not done to speak ill of the dead.

"Helmsman! Turn us about."

Sails flared as they caught wind, the idle rocking of the hull smoothing out as the ship began to cut through the swell.

The wolves began to howl.

The sudden cacophony barrelled through the air as Freki and Geri lunged and scrabbled and paced at the starboard side. Nobody knew why Leman had left without his lupine shadows, but had been content to ignore the silently moping animals.

But now they weren’t so silent.

Sound carried through water.

“Shut them up!” Holger hissed. “Shut them up or we’re dead!” Aware of the very real danger, he kept an eye on the sea. Was that a writhing shadow beneath the waves or just the distortion of the water?

Bor drew his knife and hefted it contemplatively. “How do you want them shut up?”

(oOo)

Faint crackling filled the air as purple-black slicks of seaweed froze in the chill, only to be thawed by the warm currents dashing against them. White and pale orange molluscs infinitesimally crept over the blanketed rocks, sucking at the spores and other detritus which the waves cast out.

Shore birds stalked the piles of shingle on stilted legs, flipping over stones with their heavy beaks and long, muscled necks. Whenever a grub or small crustacean was found, it was quickly gulped down, though not before being fought over in a fluster of flared wings and ruffled neck feathers.

In the distance, there was the muffled sound of a cracked and battered glacier-front finally calving. The massive, splintered chunks of the prematurely-born ice-bergs hit the churning waters with thunderous squeals and booms. Razor-sharp ice shards and spray were flung high into the air, the latter often freezing to join the former.

The various forms of wildlife ignored it; it was a common enough occurrence.

The something that was finally rolled into the shallows and caught in a submerged rockpool, they did not ignore. Crabs and birds alike flocked to the mass of spongy flesh already forming a slight patina of frost, seeking to eat what they could before it froze right through.

Raucous screeching drowned out the dashing of the waves and a flurry of grey and white-barred feather blanketed the rocks and shingle dunes.   
Forced back into the air by the ferocity and sheer mass of their kin, a few avians found their attentions caught by a huddled bulk of damp fur hauling itself shakily through the rolling shallows.

A few particularly daring ones dared to perch upon it’s back, accustomed to doing so upon sleeping Hel-seals.

They were abruptly shaken off as the thing convulsed, hacking and gagging as murky water dribbled down the chin of a pale,  _ human _ face. A face that was rapidly gaining a blue tinge as he curled forward, clutching his sternum, jaw tightening open and eyes wide and watering. Shudders jerked at his shoulders like invisible puppet strings, as if something inside his chest was trying to claw its way out via his cracked and raw mouth. But there was no screaming, only a gurgling cough.

Finally, with a last heave, a torrent of salty, oxygen-depleted water spewed onto the stone. Followed by a barrage of wet, choking coughs as lungs sought to eject the fluid they had utilized to breathe for so long.

Exhausted, Leman slumped onto his side, the damp and cold pebbles digging into his flesh as he sank gratefully into them. His legs trembled as if they were made of blubber, the air seeming incredibly heavy yet never so free, now that he had escaped the weight and buoyancy of the deep sea.    
A wet heat trickled down his face, from eyes swollen and caked with freezing salt-rime, and he curled up one trembling wrist to wipe at them.

Stabbing pain lanced through his sockets into his skull and he hissed. A prickling after-pain persisted, though, as did the tears, and he could feel the swelling subsiding little by little, as salt and sand were slowly expelled and his eyelashes thawed.

Burrowing his face into his elbow to stop it refreezing, Leman hissed as his fang snagged and tore one of his cracked lips. The shallow graze closed soon enough, but it only served to remind him of how thirsty he truly was.

Seawater had been his only recourse, doing little to slake it, and he had been far too busy fighting to merely survive to even think about catching fish for what little water the meat would contain.

But.

Dehydrated, starved, frozen and exhausted, not to mention half-blind, mostly deaf and bruised to the bone; he had won.

And had come so close to dying.

He hadn’t even killed the thing, not even close.

The creaking shatter of more icebergs birthing made him look up, blurry vision slowly sharpening, then more so. The white and blue of the ice was streaked with pink and grey, pockmarked with cracked holes.

His back throbbed in memory of being slammed around, skin raked with bloody furrows even as his teeth and nails tore into sticky white muscle and his mouth was stained black and bitter.

He had faced down a Kraken and made it run. Swim. Whatever.

A sputter of laughter, of relief, of frustration, wormed from his lips as he looked upon the mound of torn flesh festooned with shrieking birds.

“I won,” he croaked, with a note of glee. Limbs heavy, Leman pulled himself up until he stood on shaking legs, leaning on a rock for support. “I won, you bastard.”

It feels so damn  _ satisfying _ to say it out loud because he is _ alive _ and he remembers the moment of elation when his lungs finally gave in and inhaled water. Only for him to  _ not die _ and then to be dragged 

down down down down down down down down 

into the blackness. Where there  _ was _ no up or down and globules of pallid luminescence blinked out like a myriad of eyes drifting off to sleep and then there was a yawning crevasse unfolding petals made of teeth.

So, he had bitten off one of its arms.

He laughed. A pained, ugly sound like the grinding of locked swords that made the flock of avian scavengers volley into the air in alarm.

He could breathe underwater. He defeated an adult Kraken.

Those were not... _ He _ was not...humans did not do those things.

‘“Yet to find a league”’, he’d boasted. He looked human. Naturally acted like them, for the most part. But he wasn’t, even though he tried. The Russ Clan had forgiven his wolfish habits, not blaming him for that part of his upbringing. But when he tried...

At least the Kraken hadn’t cared about any of that.

He’d tried. He’d thought...if he couldn’t be what they wanted, he could be better. All those days of training until he realized he didn’t tire, the sparring until everyone refused...but he  _ was _ strong. Stronger than any of them would ever be. So they left him in charge of the camp while they went to the Althing, and…

The Vulture Clan. Mountain-dwellers infamous for ritualistically burning people alive, attacking and seeking to exploit the lowered strength of the Russ while it’s Jarl and warriors were away.

So Leman killed them all. He was within his rights, he had witnesses, none of the Russ had been killed.

He’d  _ smiled _ at the returning clansmen and his adoptive father. Hadn’t he done well? No-one else could have done this, it was safe now, he’d protected everyone and he’d done his study, memorized all the maps like a Clan Heir should know,  _ aren’t I a good son father _ ?

But he was only admired for killing. 

Transfixed by the piece of half-frozen flesh rocking in the swell, Leman suddenly felt his second heart thunder hotly against his ribs, a dull roar rising up behind his eyes until his teeth ached and his nails(claws) bit into palms within clenched fists.

“You lost.” A snarl under his breath. “A King Under The Ocean and you _ lost _ . To a thing that doesn’t even know what he is. Isn’t that irony for you?” Loud now; shouting. Yelling at a  _ dismembered limb _ , yet he didn’t have space in his head right now to care.

“That’s right; THAT’S RIGHT! THAT’S WHAT YOU GET!”

Screaming, now. Kicking and clawing the dead thing as if he were facing it down in life.

“LOOK AT YOU, TORN APART. WHO’S THE ONE? WHO’S THE APEX PREDATOR NOW? WAIT ‘TIL I COME BACK FOR THE REST OF YOU; RIP ALL YOUR OTHER ARMS OFF, THEN YOUR FACE, THEN…’”

Dimly he was aware that now only a fifth of what was coming out of his mouth were words and even then they were nonsensical vitriol. After he’d cursed everyone he knew unto the tenth generation and cast serious aspersions upon various parentages, words failed and so did his already-weakened voice.

The freezing air, dropping colder alongside the pale sun’s descent, was painting jagged white pine needles across his wet skin when Leman truly stopped. Swaying a little on his feet, he turned a thousand-fathom stare to the watery pink glow that bled through the sky and reflected violet and orange over the blue-banded icebergs sailing serenely through the deep.

The weariness was not just physical, now. Hollow and empty, yet still aching, as if someone had begun to lance the pus from an infected wound but then just left the knife in.

He didn’t know what he was. That meant he didn’t have to be human. He could be anyone, anything.

What he needed to be right now was not a meat icicle standing shin-deep in seawater.

Hmm...This beach was being hit by a warm current, from volcanic vents far beneath the water. Also, the ground beneath the soles of his feet was  _ solid _ ground; he should know, he’d scaled it’s underwater slopes to get here. Warm current, stable, the glacier in the distance, plus the position of the sun...oh, he’d ended up a  _ lot _ further away from Kraken Island than he’d originally imagined. And closer to the Asaheim Mountains than he’d thought. But still quite the trek.

He dug his claws into frozen hide and  _ heaved _ . A few pebbles that had become attached via iced ichor and seawater broke free and clattered to their brethren as he slung the dead weight over his shoulders. He had a long way to travel.

(oOo)

“The ice packs are starting to change,” Holger spoke in an undertone as he stamped the snow from his boots. “Any more delay and the route home will be impassable.”

“I know,” Snorri sighed bitterly. “Can you blame the Jarl though? The Gothi says that Leman still lives, and he hopes for him to catch up. Even if we’re the last Clan to leave.”

A bitter cough of derision. “I do not call the belly of a Kraken ‘alive’. The Wulfen Spirits are things of hunger and misery; why put stock in what they say? I care not if they are of The Mother, for even good wombs will bear bad offspring. Leman is dead and the Jarl can continue the mourning rites safely back at the settlement.”

Snorri cocked an eyebrow. “If you’re so sure of Leman’s death, why spare his wolves? Why drug them instead?”

“Leman had enough touch of Maleficar about him that I wouldn’t be surprised if he came back as a Wulfen to savage my soul in return.”

“You reject the spirits in one breath and fear them the next?”

“It’s called being cautious,” Holger snorted, taking off his cap and dusting chunks of ice from it. “It’s what’s kept me alive. It’s why the Vultures, damn them to the Erlking, have their pyres. It’s why we let Leman stay when it became obvious what he  _ wasn’t _ . Better the beast that fights for you than none at all.”

Averting his gaze, Snorri briefly frowned into the smoky heat-haze surrounding the fire-pit. 

Holger bit back a smart remark; even if he thought that Snorri was more in love with the  _ idea _ of  _ live and let live _ than what Leman actually was.

“Fine,” he grumbled, snatching up some abandoned, half-full tankards that someone had forgotten to clear up, pushing one into Snorri’s hand and keeping the other. “To Leman. Wherever he is, whatever he is.” He tapped his against Snorri’s one. “Skol.”

“Skol,” was the rueful reply.

Tankards had just been raised to lips when there was a battering, a banging at the doors. A chill ran down two spines. They knew.

“ _What the f-_ ”

(oOo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll timeskip about 1-2 months, to Leman's actual discovery and some glimpses of what Horus has been up to.
> 
> The Third Lung of Astartes Implants allows the Astartes to breath underwater. Same for Primarchs. There is a rather obvious reason why hardly any of them make advantage of this, though.
> 
> Also, normal Earth seawater is not that much of an irritant, but Fenrisian seawater has a much, much higher salinity. Which is why Fenris still has sea rather than being ice-locked and how there is enough buoyancy to support such massive sealife.


	3. jera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Months Later, On Terra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Imperial Palace hasn't been built yet, so it's still just a repurposed Hive City.
> 
> Also, the first waves of canon divergence are beginning to be properly felt...

The second that an internal clock ticked onto a certain allocated time, a minor program sparked into life. 

Miniature gravitic thrusters whined, lifting the servo-skull off of the desk, before settling down into a steady hum as altitude was adjusted for.

Swiveling slowly mid-air, it reoriented itself, and homed in on its target, butting gently against a limp arm.

The sudden unfamiliar contact had the intended effect.

“ ‘m up!” Came a sleep-slurred exclamation and an attempt to bolt upright, only for Horus to abort the move with a hiss of pain. “Ow…’”

Slumping back onto his desk, he slowly rolled the muscles in his back and waited for the stiffness to ease. While that happened, he blearily re-read the document he had fallen asleep writing, took note of the smudges and half-heartedly scrubbed at his stained cheek.

 _‘“It’s your own fault for not being aware of yourself,”’_ Constantine’s voice remarked from memory, and he rolled his eyes in rebellious acknowledgement.

The servo-skull bleeped quietly.

“Thanks, Vigil,” Horus sighed, finally sitting up and stretching. He absently patted the skull, setting it bobbing in the air once more. “Good thing you woke me up for…’” His voice trailed off in mounting horrified realisation that _he hadn’t changed his alarm back to it’s usual time_.

He was _an hour late_.

Growling out a couple of curses under his breath, he scooped the papers and dataslates into something resembling an ordered pile before abandoning his chair and rifling through his wardrobe for clean clothes and the fastest change of outfits in his life.

Slinging his gorget around his neck and stuffing his vox-bead in his ear, he grabbed the pile of work from his desk. Tucking Vigil under the other arm, he used his shoulder to exit the door to his quarters.

“Sorry, I’m late!” He called back over his shoulder to the pair of Hetaeron he didn’t have time to recognise and greet by name standing guard outside his rooms. The open channel on his vox-bead picked up an amused sigh in response, but by then he had already turned the corner at a run.

Fortunately, his destination wasn’t far, but it was far enough that he kept up his pace, dodging around Tech-Priests, menials, Administratum clerks and patrolling Custodes with an ease he was very much thankful for.

The doors were closed and locked when he got there. He’d known they would be; it was standard procedure for a Council session, but part of him had hoped that he’d be able to slip in with the delegates in between meetings.

Tapping at his gorget, Horus chewed his lip in indecision. The IFF and clearance codes embedded in his gorget would override the lock without trouble, he knew that, but he didn’t want to just...barge in.

Desperately trying to distract himself so he could enter, he let Vigil float free, the servo-skull weaving drunkenly before re-calibrating and hovering back to his shoulder. That left him with both hands free to flick roughly through his armful of work, reshuffling pages as need be over and over.

This was ridiculous; he knew the room, knew who would be in there, had walked through these doors countless times-

Armoured footfall, heavier and accompanied with the quiet billowing of a far more ornate cloak than the average Custodes, interrupted his thoughts a split second before the man that wore them made his voice known. “Welcome home, Primarch Horus Lupercal.”

“Constantine.” Unchanging. Undeterable. Right now, a rock of familiarity after so long in the unknown. “It’s...it’s so good to see you.” Then, realisation. “I’m sorry, I forgot to set my alarm back to Terran Standard so I overslept, but I’ve finished collating my reports, see?”

Constantine took a knee, as he often did. Horus only came up to his waist, so this way they could be of a height to converse as equals.  
“An apology is not necessary, Horus Lupercal. We realized what must have occurred when you did not appear for breakfast, and decided to let you sleep. You were quite tired last night when you arrived. And you exhausted yourself further with all that writing, didn’t you?”  
A golden armoured finger brushed his cheek and the patient half-smile made the meaning clear. Horus scowled in self-reproach, licking his thumb and scrubbing at the offending ink stain he hadn’t had time to wash off earlier and had honestly forgotten in the rush.

Constantine also straightened his collar for him, smoothing out the creases in his tunic and doing up the two top buttons that Horus never did up because they were uncomfortably tight around his neck. Honestly.  
“Better,” his Father’s Companion nodded. “And you should know that the meetings were rearranged; your part isn’t for another hour now.”

Well that was...a relief. However, “Constantine, why are you calling me by my full name? You hardly ever do that.” He had always been ‘Child’ or sometimes ‘Little One’. ‘Horus’ when they had company.

“Should I not? You are the new lord of Cthonia by right of conquest; you have earned the name Lupercal, and become it. You truly are a Primarch now, and I acknowledge you as such.”

Oh. _Oh_.

“I haven’t changed, Constantine.” And didn’t it feel good, to admit it out loud. “I’m still the feral little boy who once fell asleep around your neck.”

Eyes softened just a little and he gave a tiny dip of the head. The tension immediately dissipated. “Only in public then,” Constantine murmured. “Speaking of which…’?” Eyes flickered to the doors and then back to Horus again, seeking confirmation.

Horus nodded, self-consciously ducking his head. It was one thing to stand by Father’s side, be asked for comments and be taught as they went. It was another thing to be the one-man representative of a planet in his own right and separate from the Imperium.

To go from a wild lost child to, officially, ruler of a planet and one of the nominal Lord Commanders of an interstellar Imperium. Such a monumental shift, and yet, he still felt as small and dirty and insignificant as he had when he first arrived on Terra; what right did he have to stand on his own?

“It was always part of you, this greatness,” the armoured finger tilted his chin up a little, so their eyes could meet again. “Now? You’ve earned it. He is already proud of you. You merely need to accept your victory.”

Steeling himself at the sheer amount of conviction in Constantine’s voice, Horus swallowed down his doubt. “Yeah.” The locked doors seemed...much more manageable now. He was going to go in there, formally offer vassalage of Cthonia to the Emperor of Mankind and be legally recognised as the Primarch and Primogenitor of the Sixteenth Legiones Astartes. In a few minutes, he’d- wait. What had Constantine said earlier?...’ 

“I have to wait for another hour?!”

He'd lose his nerve again by then!

Gauntlet patting Horus' head, Constantine laughed out loud. "Your time will come, Child, and what shall be, shall happen according to design. Besides; my lord and I agreed that you earned the extra sleep."

So that was why nobody came in to wake him up when he stayed asleep past his usual time. "Fine. Thank you." But what was he supposed to do until it was time for him to present himself?

"So, uh, how have you and the rest of the Custodes been doing?"

Cocking his head to one side, Constantine gave the question obvious thought.

"Myself? I have been well, save for some petty inconveniences such as construction work, Ra, new equipment installation and so on. Lavinius is currently on board the flagship of the Rarus Fleet, and remotely supervising the ship-building program in the Ring of Iron; he is still as ineffable as ever. Charys is terrorising new Hekatonkheire initiates and Magos Biologis. Ra has been organising the Blood Games with great results; hence, the annoyance."

At that, Horus perked up. "The Blood Games? How did they go?"

The original idea had been of Custodes alone being the infiltrators. However, the gradually amassing ranks of eager Astartes with comparatively little to do on the downtime part of their troop rotation, had provided two solutions in one.

Whether it was spite, pride, respect, boredom, orders or, in the case of the Sixteenth 'Emperor's Wolves' Legion, the possibility of seeing their Primarch, the Astartes as a whole were on board with the unconventional war games.

"Well, we only had one while you were gone. Team-ups from everyone this time, once again, but inter-Legion ones for all but two, surprisingly. The 'winners' were a pair consisting of an Eight and a Fifteen; they got to the main Gene-lab and into the samples-store before triggering the Psyker alarms. That security hole has since been rectified, of course."

"I've seen the Psyker Astartes reaching out to each other across Legions before, but that's an interesting pair up," Horus agreed. Inter-Legion war games were common, of course, but it had been agreed that only seeing other Legions as opponents across a battlefield could breed silent resentment. Legions with similar methods and specialties had made connections first, but now it appeared that the spirit of cooperation had spread.

"Any from the Sixteenth?" He was their Primarch, of course he was biased.

"A Trio consisting of a Sixteen, a Nine and a Four started off well but infighting broke out. They put up quite the fight when they were discovered, though."

"A good skill-set, in theory," Horus had to acknowledge. "The personalities, however...it could have worked very well if one or two had been capable of mediation, but I'm presuming that they were all either ranked Astartes and/or too prideful to listen to an Astartes from another Legion?"

"Two Sergeants and a blade specialist with not-entirely-unfounded delusions of grandeur."

"Damn."

"Indeed. Though, having mentioned the Fours, I think there is something you should look in on."  
Constantine reached out and placed a hand on Vigil, discreetly pressing the power rune; the servo-skull fell slack and powerless into his grip, eye socket bereft of it’s usual comforting red glow.

Horus merely raised an eyebrow; Vigil was only required to be deactivated if incredibly sensitive information was going to be discussed and the slightest risk of any unsolicited recording or monitoring equipment was not tolerated. The implicit warning was clear; Horus was to keep silent about what he saw and heard. Constantine shot him a last glance too, giving him the chance to back out.

“Show me then,” Horus affirmed instead, accepting back the lifeless servo-skull.

Falling in beside Constantine, he was led to an old servitor’s passage, set into an alcove and disguised by elaborate plasterwork. Originally designed to let carts and massive cargo-haulers discreetly move about the spire, when the Hive City had been claimed as the foremost Imperial stronghold and the Emperor’s Residence, the Custodes had occupied the network of passageways and used them with terrifying efficiency to appear seemingly out of nowhere and in places that were otherwise impossible to reach.

Horus knew of their existence, of course, but in all his ten years had never had the chance to walk them.

The sheer utilitarian state of them was somehow disappointing, despite the fact that he realistically hadn’t expected them to be anything else. The Custodes saved what small possessions they owned and recreational endeavours for their bunk spaces and common rooms.  
These tunnels were merely a means to an end.

Up flights of stairs and through a stone archway crowned with vaguely nauseous-looking lions, they came out into a narrow gallery.

Horus recognised it immediately as he glimpsed the spread of the Council Chamber below them. He’d long wondered how the Custodes and Uncle Mal’s people could get up here, but now he knew.

One curiosity satisfied, he turned his attention to the scene below.

“‘-have great and undeniable merit. However, could you expound upon the psychological and Inter-Legion ramifications, for the benefit of the record?-”

Father was talking to the two Custodians who had the floor. Horus recognised them as the Liaisons for the Fourth and Seventh, but those two Legions never usually worked together? The two strains of Astartes were neutral enough towards each other, but since their specialities were so similar, to subject an enemy to both of them at once would be both inefficient and overkill.

“-require a certain amount of activity and stimulation-”

“-long periods of tedium and short episodes of brutal close-quarters combat-”

“-learned behavioural patterns-”

“-tests show much lower levels compared to the control group-"

Except that this seemed to be more of an intervention than a proposal.

"We became concerned about the tactics the Fourth Legion were using, as well as their overall demeanor," Constantine explained in a low voice, filling Horus in on the context. “At first we thought it was an aspect of the gene-seed or an attribute from the recruitment pool. It was only when we considered the idea of using Astartes to help build the Astronomicon and looked at what campaigns we were using them for, that we realised it was an environmental factor.”

Horus considered. “I thought Astartes couldn’t get battle-stress?”

“They don’t.” Constantine’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “All we did was take away their time to feel like people. And all they left had was spiteful efficiency.”

"But that situation's getting fixed, though, isn't it?" Horus reassured. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, it isn’t. But the Sixteenth Legion will be yours; you will decide how they will act, fight, live. You will command, not weapons, but people.”

_tap...tap...tap_

“A valuable lesson, Valdor; one you should keep in mind, young Primarch.”

They were interrupted by the tapping of a staff and a voice that creaked at the edges the way the spine of a leather-bound book did.

“Uncle Mal!” Horus turned, face lit up in a grin. “I would hug you, but…’,” one arm held his bundle of documents and the other the deactivated Vigil.

“Hmm, it’s the thought that counts, so I'll live,” the Sigillate waved it off. “You heard about the Astronomicon, I take it?”

“Being built by Astartes?” Horus nodded. “That’s going to speed up the building work...by a lot. Did something happen? Last I heard, the work was on schedule to be finished in the next fifteen years.”

Malcador chuckled. “Twenty-five to twenty-eight years was the original plan, yes, to be ready in time for the Great Crusade. Your Father was originally content to spend those years personally powering the Astronomicon from the safety of the Imperial Palace here on Terra. But then he started having a crisis of feelings!” Malcador laughed again.

“He wants to look for, and meet, your brothers personally as they are found. Since several are likely to be found before the Astronomicon’s original completion date, that meant speeding up the work to have the mechanisms in place and channeling his power.  
Oh, and speak of the devil…’”

To their side, Constantine stiffened as his private vox crackled with urgency.

Down below, voices were cut off abruptly with the wave of a hand as a similar, more richly-appointed vox-bead received the same message.

Unauthorised for whatever channel those two were tuned into, Horus’ mind settled for adding the pieces together. A picture was formed and he turned a hopeful, disbelieving gaze to his Father’s old friend. 

Malcador just cackled gleefully. “Lavinius works fast, doesn’t he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you interested, yes, Horus has hair at this point in time.  
> (It's the same uncontrollable spiky floof that Rogal has, just in a dark brown.)
> 
> Constantine in public: Calm, collected, wise.  
> Constantine with Horus: The most Overpowered Mother Hen ever conceived by mortal mind.  
> Constantine with other Custodes: Absolute Dork.


	4. dagaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Leman has feels and he doesn't know what to do with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Throws Contrived Fenrisian Lore)

“Mother Fenris, hear your child. Take this humble offering into your veins as we beseech you for your protection against the Maleficarum and their ways. May you keep us strong, even as your heart bleeds and your skin changes. Bless our kin with strong arms and bright swords, that many of us may survive your slumber. May our Mother Fenris listen kindly.”

The Gothi lifted her milky eyes from the shallow mound of freshly-turned earth. Speckled with permafrost, the makeshift shrine was anointed with the red-stained carcass of a snow hare, stiff with cold. The snort and snuffle of long muzzles and sharp teeth, attracted by the scent of carrion prey, had her reaching for her staff and knife.

“Freki! Geri!” Names were snapped, followed by guttural snarls from a more human throat. Somewhat relieved, somewhat, she sighed and began the slow, bone-aching process of hauling herself off her knees.

“Leman of Russ. Why do you seek this old woman, hm?”

Her sight had been dimmed for many years, but she was not completely devoid of it. The twin wolves were dark shadows, prowling about the figure of their Foster-kin like Wulfen about the Erlking. She couldn’t see his face, but she would intuit that his expression was not a happy one.

Nevertheless, the changeling child had had manners, or the core tenets of such, pounded into his thick skull.

“Honoured Gothi. I seek an answer to a question.” After a moment’s pause, he pulled something from his belt. A handful of things, to be exact, that clinked and clacked in his palm.  
“You told Jarl Thengir of the Russ, my Foster-father, that I yet lived, even when everyone thought me dead. You obviously have skill in your arts. I have monies for the trouble, if you desire.”

She scoffed, waving him away. “I know what you want to ask, Leman of Russ. Everyone, from the settlers in the wilds to the Jarls, want to know of the sky-ship that hangs sleeping in the skies. Well, Mother Fenris shows me nothing, nothing save a blinding light like the sun. Take your money and take that answer for your father!"

"Not. That." A growl. "I am not here for him, or for that question. I am here for me. I am here because ever since that craft appeared, I have had dreams that I do not remember anything of except green oil and witchfire. I would know why.”

He received no answer, the old hag merely staring sightlessly off to one side, as if listening for something. Impatience itched at his empty hand, and he wrapped it around the hilt of his new sword. “Answer me, old one!”

He got his answer, though it was not from her. An eerie witchlight, like kraken eyes or the early sun on glacier ice, flickered into existence with a howl of wind that made Leman’s skin prickle as if invisible pine needles were scratching at his skin. Wulfen. A wolf spirit of Fenris; of untamed hunger that was never sated. 

At least, this was true proof that the Gothi was indeed strong in her gift, though he would rather not suffer the lupine apparition’s presence for much longer, or he would be forced to find out if a kraken-sword could harm a spirit.

Fortunately, in the next thought, the Wulfen vanished in a flurry of snowflakes. The Gothi turned her clouded eyes towards him. “Something comes. Maleficarum, yet...not. It burns...Leman of Russ, where do you go?” She raised her voice to call out after him as he and his wolves turned and began to slip away. “Did you not wish to ask about your dreams?!” 

“I’ll find out myself!” He called back.

The shadow of a second sky-ship darkened the land.

(oOo)

If anyone had ever needed a more stark reminder of Leman’s unnaturalness, they had it in a cold, rune-etched Frostblade. 

It was known that Kraken teeth could be imbued into steel, but that was the soft, tiny teeth of infants. The sword across Leman’s back had had to have the adult teeth cracked by throwing them into the hottest of forge fires before being powdered by a grindstone until it could even be considered possible to incorporate into a blade.

It was no Mjalnar, the revered and legendary heirloom blade of the Iron Masters Clan, said to have been forged for the giant hands of the Ancient who had fought to preserve the secrets of steam engines and metalwork during the Age of Lost Nights.

No; the Frostblade simply dubbed ‘Kraken’ was not such a blade. But if it’s auspicious origins were anything to go by, then maybe it’s own tale would be just as monumental.

Certainly, the circumstances of late were shaping up to be just that.

Slowly, meticulously, with forge-roughened hands, Holger Red Star Sinking put a piece of seal jerky to his mouth and chewed it. Piece by piece.

Those Russ men were still going; they must have been shouting for the better part of an hour now.

It was stupid, really. Leman Russ wasn’t normal, anyone could see that. And old Thengir hadn’t any sort of clue about raising a child in the first place, let alone one like Leman. Small wonder, really, that it was about to dissolve into a fight, if the hands on swords were any sort of indication.

It had all started a day or so ago, when that second void-craft had breached the daylight, and sent the already-jittery Clans into something approaching blind panic. And a few hours ago, a star had fallen through the sky.

Hence why Clan representatives had gathered, even though the Time of Ice and Fire was drawing perilously close. In the next few days, the islands and pieces of land the Clans had inhabited for the last four-or-so years would either sink beneath the waves or be covered in lava, the Clans taking to their Dragonship fleets to escape the carnage and wait for new land to fight over.  
Well, the Iron Masters Clan didn’t; their island chain was stable and inert, but it would still need defending from raids.

Holger selected another piece of jerky to snack on. He might as well enjoy the show. Nobody asked him for his opinion anyhow; they just asked him to make them swords.

“All this killing, Leman! Why?! What good is your selfish quest for power?”

Not that the Russ men needed any, considering that they were cutting with pretty sharp words now.

“Killing? Well it’s the only thing you ever let me do, so I might as well enjoy it!”

“Liar! There were plenty of things you could have pursued!”

“But it was the only thing that ever made you _look_ at me wasn’t it?!”

There was a dull, aching lull, during which Leman turned towards the edge of the conclave’s boundary circle, his shoulders high and stride taut.

“Leman, Leman! Don’t you dare walk away!”

“If you don’t want me to leave, you should have treated me like you want me to stay. I never asked to be your son, and I never asked to be your dog."

The parting remarks, thrown back over a shoulder, echoed around the now silent conclave. It was in that silence that Leman left unopposed.

Holger paused, meat in front of his mouth. The word for ‘son’ that Leman had used…that revealed a lot more about that particular relationship than had been publicly known before.   
That was certainly a turn of events. Then he began to chew again.

(oOo)

The ground shivered, rivers of scree flowing freely and gouts of steam and boiling meltwater spewing skywards from crevices in the crags. 

Leman didn't have that much time before these cliffs would be dripping molten rock; no time for a days-long hunt as he had been on before. But he had the sense of it now; where the not-star had fallen. He could get there in plenty of time.

He’d figure out what to do once he got there.

He’d figure out what to do with Thengir once he’d finished getting his answers.

A glint of light on metal caught his eye from up above; Leman instinctively flattened himself against the rock, but no arrows or shouts of alarm came. There was only the wind, the rumble of the earth, and his own breathing.  
As well as the fact that nobody else beside him could be up here. Nobody from Fenris, anyway.

Voices. Voices now. The wind had changed, carrying the sounds of strange words and metal-things humming like startled flies down to where he was hiding. Leman drew in a long, quiet breath, scenting oils, leather, strange cloth and something like wood-pulp parchment.

Hushed muttering, the tone of a stern rebuke, the sound of metal footsteps. Then the wind died, suddenly and without warning or cause.

A nudging feeling of _expectation_ made itself known and Leman lunged and seized it without thinking, clawing his way up the cliff face without noticing anything except the roaring flutter in his chest.

The wide snowfield of the plateau broke his momentum as he scrabbled and heaved himself into something approaching readiness, only for his attention to be caught first by the winged metal box-ship. It was emitting the strange chuffing hum he’d heard earlier, and the snow beneath it had melted and refrozen into ice around it’s struts. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before, not even the trains on Iron Masters Island, but as much as he wanted to drink in every detail of it’s dark, gold-etched hide that steamed in the freezing air, every muscle in his body was screaming that the cowled figure standing off to one side was too dangerous to take his eyes off of.

Not like the Kraken.

Not like that.

But.

_But._

Leman drew his sword. 

He didn’t want to kill; he wanted answers, reasons, a _place_.

But this...it was like staring up at the midday sun, when shadows died and the world was flat and nothing breathed. Small. Uncertain. Unbelonging.  
At least the weight and rasp of the leather-wrapped hilt in his hand was a solid reminder that he could, _would_ , fight and win the impossible.

And, really, he didn’t know what else to do. Talking? How did you even _talk_ in this situation? Did words even exist for this?

The person reached up and lowered their, _his_ , hood. 

Eyes glowed gold, and Leman felt something wash over him, like the displacement of water in the wake of a Kraken's arm. If anything stank of Maleficarum, it had to be this, but it wasn’t the same unconscious itch that the Wulfen gave him.  
It felt familiar, even. Dreams of green liquid and glowing light sort of familiar.

Wasn’t this what Leman had wanted to know, all along?

“Who are you?” Only the ingrained stillness of a hunter stopped the words from juddering in his mouth.

“Someone who has missed you very much, son.”

The tongue was perfect Fenrisian Hearth-cant, just the slightest hint of an accent.

Son.

The word rattled in Leman’s brain; sought for but unable to settle.

Hearth-cant was specific, meant for emotion, for personal relation. Whenever Thengir called him son, it was always the term for ‘offspring-valued-subordinate-student’.

This...the term this stranger had used… ‘young-child-my-cherished-person’.

What...what...why was he still holding his sword? Fingers trembling, he sheathed it, blinking back the burning in his eyes. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry or his tears would freeze, this high in the mountains.

This...he’d just wanted an answer, not...he hadn’t hoped for _people_ . Hadn’t dared to _imagin_ e anything like a family.

So if he wasn’t a freak, wasn’t Maleficar; if he had a kinfolk... “What am I?”   
He could ask that, right? That glaring-sun-observation feeling had almost imperceptibly turned warm and enfolding like the banked heat-shimmer of a fire in the central hearth.

And when did the man- his _Father_ \- get closer?

A hand- heavy, made of flesh, _real_ -on his shoulder. “I made all of you to be what humankind could be. You are Primarch; you are my sons.”

The oddity made Leman’s thoughts clear; why was the man speaking in plurals? Then he picked up on the hurried footsteps crunching through the snow, bearing down on them. The lack of concern in his Father’s bearing stopped him from drawing his sword, and as he turned, the runner loped to a stop in front of him.

A flawless face, unmarked by the ravages of weather or the echoes of hardship, stared at him, dark eyes so like their Father’s and so unlike Leman’s sparkling with barely-contained joy. The oddly form-fitting tunic was a deep lustrous brown, trims edged with shining golden thread and a soft grey fur tucked around his neck and around his shoulders. Despite the brief silence of hesitancy, he held himself like he knew who he was, had never had cause to wonder, had never had reason to doubt, had never been belittled as _unnatural_ , had never lived in _fear_ of the pity of others running out-

  
His knuckles met his brother’s face with a resounding _crack_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constantine in the background: *gently slams his own head against the hull of the shuttle*


	5. othila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horus: Friends?  
> Leman(slightly jealous): alhjghfhgdsjfgkaghsg F I G H T M E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Fenrisian lore!  
> And Emperor characterisation!

"That could have gone better," the Emperor muttered under his breath.

"Well, it could have gone worse," Constantine shot back. "Though it is partly my fault; when he put his sword away I presumed that you had reached an accord and I gave Horus the go-ahead to approach."

Horus himself was plastered to his father's side, holding his reset nose in place to allow the bone to heal. There was a dried smear of blood on his upper lip as he sat leaning slightly forward and breathing slowly. But he was relaxed, calm, trusting in his father’s solid presence that was only reinforced by the arm wrapped securely around his shoulders and holding him close.

In contrast, Leman was hovering. Sat on the bench hunched over and with his feet drawn up; a bundle of fur, half-bared teeth and bony knees. Sat on the other side of his father, within reach of his hand, yes, but too far for an embrace of any sort. 

At least he had acquiesced to entering the shuttle in the first place after being psychically subdued.

"The strike didn't have any malicious intent behind it, so even I was taken by surprise," the Emperor reassured Constantine. He had kept his mind open for active threats, not a wild child full of confusion, frustration and longing that culminated in a sharp strike and a broken nose. Just one blow, thankfully, before freezing wide-eyed in shock at his own actions and in dread of retribution. 

The mountains rumbled in the distance, a rain of pebbles clattering deafeningly against the hull.

“I think we should move,” Constantine murmured half-questioningly, after a long second of silence. “The region is stable, but this debris...I would rather keep the shuttle in flight-worthy condition.”

The Emperor hummed briefly in acknowledgment, turning over plans in his mind but his attention now seized by the unwavering gaze of his newest-found son. Well, not entirely unwavering; every now and then it would flicker to what little Leman could see of Horus from his viewpoint.   
Hopefully the second try would be the charm?   
“Do you have questions, Leman of Russ?”

He wouldn’t usually directly copy a language from another’s mind, especially not from someone he cared for. But the planet had a peculiar feel to it, and the circumstances of their meeting hadn’t provided the luxury of time to mingle with the populous and Passively absorb vocabulary and syntax. In any case, at least now there wasn’t a language barrier.

“Yes. You said you made us.” Yes, the word for living-crafted-artisan-masterwork. Fenrisian Hearth-cant was specific and lovely with it’s conceptual terms.   
“Are you  _ Aldafodr _ ?”

The word parsed out as ancestor-of-age-of-man. Transliterated to ‘Allfather’, though religion appeared not to enter into it. Eerily correct, but how was that related to gene-crafting? Was there cultural context he was missing?    
“And what does Allfather mean?”

A blink, a slight tilt of the head. “When the Ancients came to Fenris in their sky-ship, the weak began to perish from the cold. So a crafter of blood-and-bone remade them, gave them fur and teeth so they could survive. That crafter was  _ Aldafodr _ of Wolves, but of Men, for there were no wolves on Fenris and never have been since.   
You are an Allfather of Man?”

Ah. A purely meritocratic title of his skill at gene-craft. That, he could hold. “Yes. I remade men into artisans,” he gestured to Constantine, a lick of pride seeping into his tone as it always did when speaking of his first and dearest Companion. “And I made sons from my own flesh. I made you. And now I have found you.”

Pale eyes flicked to Horus once more, only to be caught by dark ones. Horus was following the conversation as best as he could, his Passive Talent for language dissecting and assimilating what it heard. He would probably be able to stumble through a greeting and some simple words, but fluency would take much more time and immersion, let alone social and cultural cues.

Speaking of which… “Leman, could you guide us to your settlement, the...Russ clan? I would speak with them, and move this craft off of the mountain.”

Some amalgamation of frown and smirk settled on Leman’s face. “Sure. Not the first strange thing I’ve brought back.”

(oOo)

Bone had long since healed, but the sting of the rejection and jealousy behind the blow had not.

Reason told Horus that he should give Leman space; time to adapt to these new and very big changes.

Horus couldn’t bring himself to be reasonable. His brother was lonely to the point of frustration, he couldn’t let that continue. Horus had been lonely too, but not for ten years! Ten years of the company of literal wolves and the half-hearted revilement of the human population. Not even their respect; just the awe-stricken fear of a feral, ambivalent-but-not-tame predator.

But Leman was going to be alright now; Father had found him, they were going to go back to Terra, show him everything, teach him everything and he would never be lonely again because they were brothers and brothers looked out for each other.

No, Horus wouldn’t give Leman space. He would be right there for him. 

He just didn’t want to get punched in the face again. And what if...

Constantine stood beside him as they both watched Leman watch their Liege and Father sway the Fenrisians to his side.

“What if it never works out?” Horus asked quietly.

“You try again,” Constantine said shortly.

“I mean never.”

“You try differently.”

“ _ Constantine _ ,” Horus huffed in exasperation at the evasion.

“Primarch Horus Lupercal,” Constantine retorted. “There is no  _ never _ . There is only what must be done for it to be accomplished. Ask, Primarch. Use the mouth and mind you were formed with and ask your brother what must be done for you to reach an accord.”

Horus opened his mouth to protest that he didn’t know Fenrisian, and Leman didn’t know any of the languages that he spoke. Only to close it again as an idea occurred to him.

“Father?” He spoke into his vox-bead, not wanting to approach the gathering in person and interrupt.

“Son?”

“Please can you psychically implant the Fenrisian language into my head? Now, um, very soon, I mean?”

A pause. One of thought, not because He was preoccupied; the Fenrisian tribesman were mostly milling around in deliberation among themselves.

“I know why you are asking this. You know why I insist on you learning languages naturally, with your Talent.”

It was not a no, at least? “I know. But he has some sort of problem with me and I can’t let it fester for that long. And he...I don’t think he  _ understands _ what being a Primarch is, not truly. I know that you’d translate for us, but...it wouldn’t be the same as if he heard it from me. Please?”

“Then I concede. Prepare yourself.”

Horus had barely a second to do so before the psychic knowledge hit him like a pressure hose to the brain. Meanings and sentence structure snapped out connections in a barrage of spiked pitons and an unnerving mental vertigo made him sway on his feet as language-specific terms suddenly wormed into his train of thought and applied a fresh layer of colour to everything he saw...why did Fenrisian need twenty-four completely separate words for snow and ice?

Nausea made him bend double and dry-retch as the knowledge of the Fenrisian language settled and connected in his mind next to Cthonic, High and Low Gothic and a few Ancient Terran dialects. Another addition to his collection.

A shift in Constantine’s posture brought Horus out of his linguistic fugue. Straightening up, he met the gaze of a large grey wolf, staring at him in yellow-eyed challenge.

It was instinctive, really. Still dazed, Horus drew on his oldest memories. His first language, learned in a mouthful of wolf meat.   
He peeled back his upper lip and let loose a rumbling snarl.  _ Back off, don’t try me. _

“What the Hel?”

Horus  _ understood that. _

Leman stood transfixed, mouth agape, as if setting eyes on Horus for the first time. Then he came back to himself, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you playing at?”

Horus finally got to say what he had been wanting to for hours. “Hello, brother.”

Pale eyes widened. “What?” Voice hoarse, before returning to normal. “How...what maleficarum is this?”

Maleficarum. Psychic, but the meaning was more Sorcery? Horus walked over, closing the gap between them. “I asked Father to give me the knowledge so I could greet you in your own tongue, to make things easier. Not...not maleficar, though, just by psychic power. My name is Horus Lupercal; I’m glad to meet you.”

Leman snorted derisively. “Horus Lupercal. Huh. Name’s Leman Russ. Glad to meet me? Funny thing to say to the man who defeated you.”

Pride stung, Horus frowned. “Defeated? I was trying to talk to you and you broke my nose with no warning, it wasn’t a fight! Why did you even do that anyway?”

“Why didn’t you dodge?” Leman rolled his eyes. “What, you couldn’t manage that? Can’t even put up a fight? You gonna hit me back right now? Are you? Go on, do it! Bet you don’t have the guts.”

Taken back apace, Horus sputtered at the insinuation. “I don’t  _ want _ to fight you, I’m just...I’m your  _ brother _ ; I want us to work together like we’re supposed to-”

“Hah!” Leman barked a horrible, grinding laugh. He stepped forward, more a sinuously casual lunge than anything, grabbing Horus by the collar of his tunic. “I  _ have _ brothers, ones who know how to fight.” The twin wolves coiled around them both and  _ brothers _ , oh that explained  _ a lot _ .

“Unlike you, it seems. I don’t know why he kept you!”

What?

Wait, hang on. Deducting more than sensing Constantine getting ready to pull them apart, Horus frantically motioned with his hand for his guardian to stand down, hoping that he would be trusted to handle it.

Now... ‘kept’?

_ Oh _ . Oooohhhh. Well, it did make a kind of sense. “You weren’t thrown out Leman, we were stolen!”

It was Leman’s turn to be taken aback, eyes wide, though he still kept Horus in an iron grip. “What?” Voice a shaky rasp.

His brother was clearly rattled to the core. Was this really what he had thought Father had done?    
“Father made lots of us, us Primarchs. His enemies stole us as babes, scattered us across the galaxy. He only found me by accident years ago, but we’ve never stopped looking. We won’t stop until all of us are back together. We won’t abandon anyone.”

Clearly internally struggling to keep afloat, Leman half-looked as though he wanted to vomit. “I have a family here,” he protested weakly, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than Horus.

A pair of wolves and a community that barely paid attention to him. Horus knew people, had known since first sight that Leman was lonely.   
“A family that understands?” He asked softly, silently pleading for Leman to realise, to accept.

But Leman merely laughed that ugly laugh again, something sharp and brittle slamming into place at Horus’ words. “Understands? Ha!” Still, he let go of Horus’ tunic and stood somewhat at ease. “Well, as brothers go, I suppose you’ll do. So, that's our Father then, huh? Who's the big guy in the gold armour?"

"That's Constantine," Horus supplied, hearing the subject of their conversation venture near at the sound of his name. "The head of Father's personal guard and His friend. He's really nice and takes care of everyone so ask him if you want to know anything and can't find Father. Uh, once you've learned Gothic, of course."

"Personal guard, huh?" Leman had an alarming glint in his eye. "So he's pretty strong then?"

“Don’t fight Constantine,” Horus pleaded. “Well, he’ll spar with you if you ask, but don’t  _ fight _ him. Besides, he’d beat you without breaking a sweat.”

“Nah,” Leman scoffed, folding his arms. “I could take him; I’ve fought bigger and meaner.”

Horus threw up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not getting into this. Why can’t we just talk about something that isn’t fighting? How about we talk about your wolf brothers? What are their names?”

The two beasts were definitely somewhat intelligent, though their already respectable size belied a slight disproportion which Horus knew meant that they were not yet full grown and would be massive when they were. Unusually, they also possessed a thumb-like extra claw on their front paws, but that was easily ignored in favour of the very large teeth.

“This is Geri, The Carrion Eater,” Leman said proudly, patting the one with a nick in one ear. “And that’s Freki, The Wild Glutton.” That one had a darker-furred neck. “Their mother raised the three of us, that’s why I...were you raised by wolves too? You don’t  _ act _ like it, except for just now. But maybe it’s different because Fenris doesn’t have wolves.”

“Not really  _ raised _ , it’s hard to- wait, what?” Horus tried to make sense of what Leman had said. “But...they are wolves?”

“No,” Leman smirked. “I told Father, but I suppose you didn’t hear. When the Ancients first landed on Fenris, they made those among them that were too weak and old to survive into massive beasts of fur and fang. So, Fenris has no wolves and never has.”

“What?”

Leman scowled. “Hey, I know my history! I’m not  _ stupid _ , I did actually learn all this stuff.”

Horus shook his head and held up his hands in appeasement. “No, I didn’t mean that, I’m just trying to get my head around how they might have done that! It’s uh...two legs to four is a pretty big change, let’s just say. I don’t think even Father would know how to do something like that.”

A wide, excited grin spread across Leman’s face. “Then why don’t  _ we _ find out? You can still get to parts of the Ancient’s ship through some tunnels not far from here. We could go right now, take Constantine if we must since he seems determined to follow you around and be back before nightfall. What could go wrong?”

(oOo)

A lot of things, apparently.

Horus stared blankly at the mountain of rubble choking the tunnel and cutting them off from Constantine.

Leman scratched his cheek absentmindedly. “Would this be a good time to mention that monsters live in these caves?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all problems are solved in one conversation.


	6. thurisaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horus: *trying to be friendly and diplomatic*  
> Also Horus: *getting real tired of Leman's shit*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically spoilers for the first Space Wolf novel, but it came out in 1999 so I don't think it's that much of a big deal.

He had scalded his hand.

Leman stared down at the reddened skin pulling his fingers into a tight claw. The spout of steam that had heralded the collapse of the tunnel roof had caught them all by surprise. Constantine had taken most of it, but was fully armoured.    
Leman had caught only a little on his arm and his leather vambraces and gloves had shielded him from most, but his fingers and the palm of his hand…

Well, it was already healing, blisters bursting before drying and scabbing over before his eyes. Still sore and stiff, but at least it wasn’t his sword hand.

Horus had noticed his wound, his observation of it. “Is...is this your first time getting seriously hurt? Seeing yourself heal, I mean?”

Leman snorted; his sheltered brother had no idea what Fenris was like. “No. First time I’ve been scalded though. Been cut before.”

“I’m sorry.”

Startled, Leman jerked his head up to see Horus looking at him with something soft and warm in his eyes.

Leman broke eye contact with a slight snarl; brother or no, he didn’t need pity.   
Horus took the hint. Or at least, Leman thought he did. He shut his mouth before resuming examining the cave-in, at least. Too easily pushed. Too soft. But smart.

“My...communication machine...isn’t working through this much rock,” Horus pronounced. “So we’ll just have to wait here for somebody to dig us out safely.” He smiled reassuringly at Leman, as if he wasn’t giving up.

“No!” Leman retorted. “We can still go ahead and find what we came for, no need to wait here! We’ll move quicker without Constantine anyway.”

“Not five minutes ago you said that there were monsters down here!” Horus snapped back. “We have no exit, no supplies, no idea of which direction we’re going, no support and the only reason we can even see each other right now without a light is our very superior eyesight. This is not a good idea-!”

Leman grabbed him by the collar again.

“Shut up. You’re wearing a short sword. You know how to use it?”

“Of course,” Horus ground out, gaze narrowed in annoyance at Leman’s hand at his neck, looking unnervingly as though he was considering biting it. Leman let go, though he was tempted not to, just to see how it would play out.

“Then we’ll be fine.” That was the sort of thing you were supposed to say, right? Leman had never reassured anyone before; he always either hunted alone, or people had already made up their minds about him so why bother trying to convince them otherwise?

But Horus  _ mattered _ to him,  _ somehow _ . He didn’t know why, but he did, and reassurance was something you did for people who mattered to you, he was sure. 

“Yes, there’s monsters. But both Nightgangers and Underfangs are pretty weak and they’ll give up and run if we kill a few of them. If you  _ are _ anything like me, you’ll be strong enough.” Even if Horus seemed to be against fighting back at all. “Just stay behind me, follow my lead and do what I say.”

Leman turned and began walking, his footsteps echoing alone for a few seconds, before they were joined by Horus’ catching up.   
“You’ve been in these caves before then, Leman?”

“No, but there are stories, warnings, about it. People going exploring, never coming back, turning into Nightgangers, eaten by Underfangs lurking in the shadows, that sort of thing.” Leman shrugged. 

“But what are they?”

“Underfangs are...kind of like wolves. Shaped like them, in packs like them. But definitely not wolves, not even close. Nightgangers are...were humans but not anymore. Twisted, mad things.”

“Ah.” Was the only reply to that, and there were no more questions for a long while.

  
  


The caves descended, branching off into a myriad of directions, but the two Primarchs kept following the smell of volcanic fumes ever downwards.

The humidity began to rise, and so did the appearances of small lifeforms. Slime-moulds snaked across the rocky surface like patches of ropey scar tissue and gave off a faint bioluminescence. Glow-worms spun out watery chandeliers from the ceiling and refracted pulsing ersatz starlight from their tails, setting a lure for tiny papery mites that tumbled through the gusts of warm air like confetti. Large beetles with domed, segmented carapaces scuttled surprisingly quickly across the floor and curled up into tight balls as Horus and Leman went past.

It was surprisingly beautiful, in an eerie, muffling way. As if they were traveling through the gullet of some great beast. The comparison certainly didn’t help the phantom scratching sensation under Leman’s skin and Horus was uneasy as well, making little aborted twitches like he was resisting the urge to look over his shoulder every five seconds.

After a time, they both sidled around a tight crag while following the burbling sound of running water, and were suddenly in an expansive cave. More of the slime-mould was everywhere, though broken up by clusters of cloudy white crystal and sections of oddly smooth...Horus scraped off a thick patina of mould spores and not-quite-rust. “I think we found the ship parts. A few fragments, at least.”

He scratched tentatively at the rock it was embedded in, rolling a few grains between his fingers.   
“Volcanic; the cave layout must change then, moving the pieces about.”

He eyed the bubbling, fuming lake in the center of the passageway-riddled cavern and the carpet of tiny micro-crystals, interspersed with bigger clumps, with a curious mild trepidation. “Superheated minerals under pressure within a gas pocket. Has to be airtight though, so how-”

“I told you to shut up and follow me!” Leman snapped, tired of Horus’ meaningless muttering. Freki and Geri were never this annoying, never questioned him! “Go back to the cave-in and wait if you hate hunting that much.”

  
Again, that flat, violent glare that went as quick as it came. “This isn’t a  _ hunt, _ Leman. I don’t even know why you suggested this entire scheme, but I’m not leaving you. So get used to me by your side.”

Inside Leman, something drained that he hadn’t even known was festered. Horus was,  _ truly was _ sticking with him. Obviously felt no thrill of the hunt, but went along because it was important to  _ Leman _ .    
No-one had done that for Leman before, not even close.

But did he have to be  _ such _ a pain in the backside about it?

“Just...less talking and more doing,” Leman muttered, before pointing to a passage more at random than because it did indeed look like it led deeper down.

“Fine,” Horus huffed, pointedly getting the last word in as they circumnavigated the pool. Indeed, he kept quiet, instead reverting back to those little not-quite-wolf mannerisms.    
The both of them scented the tunnel’s air almost as one then glared at each other defensively.

But they both drew their respective swords and not to use on each other, but because there was something down there. And it,  _ they _ , were moving up towards them. Silently, save for the muted pattering of paws on stone and harsh breathing through toothed, open jaws.

Both brothers set themselves against the cavern wall; one each side of the tunnel and ready to cut down any beast that came between them.

It didn’t take long.

The first Underfang leapt between them too fast for a mortal eye to see more than a blur, but both Primarchs saw it’s form clearly.

It was vaguely lupine, that was true enough. But formed as if it’s skeleton were made from plates as an Astartes’ was, with thin skin stretched too tight over almost no bulk to speak of. Streaked red and black with mould and algae, a long coat of shaggy fur grew stiff and matted in almost spiny clumps around the ruff and down the far-too-long tail. A domed, bony head framed large, back-lit eyes beneath a low, jutting brow that swept back into short pointed ears laid back flat against an arched, tensed neck.

A neck that was pierced by the stabbing point of a sharp, two edged sword, Horus twisting the blade to gain purchase and using the beast’s own momentum to spin and fling it to the side, leaving only the faintest smear of blood on the gold-sheened metal as sword and flesh parted cleanly. Leaving the yet-living corpse, legs still scrabbling to run even as it choked on it’s on blood, to skid across the barbed ground that lacerated it’s skin and snagged and splayed it’s intestines with a gargled wail of pain.

With Horus turned away from them, the second Underfang surged for his shoulder only to be cleaved through the spine by  _ Kraken _ , Leman’s longer blade less suited for dexterity but the greater weight better for biting through flesh and bone in long sweeps that, especially with his off-hand still healing, left him overextended and unable to bring his sword up again in time.   
  


The third Underfang got through, Horus only scoring a long, shallow slice along it’s ribcage as it darted low to the ground instead of jumping.

It skidded to a stop by the lakeshore, calloused paws throwing up a trail of glittering scree and seemingly unconcerned by it’s butchered brethren as it stared balefully at the two brothers, ears flicking madly back and forth, nostrils flaring. Then it’s massive underbite of a jaw, with it’s plate-like scalloped teeth, cracked open wide in a screeching howl that felt unnaturally long and loud for it’s relatively small and thin frame.

Deep within the network of twisting passageways, more howls responded.

“Reinforcements,” Horus snarled disdainfully, holding a thrashing Underfang upright by it’s neck-fur in one hand, dispassionately sliding his sword through it’s eye socket with the other. “You said they would run if we put on a show of force!”

“They usually do!” Leman retorted, keeping an eye on the Underfang who was mustering the rest of it’s pack. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Something must have them riled up.” They were coming out of some of the other tunnels now, a sea of ribbed backs and gnashing teeth, though still oddly quiet. “And I didn’t know there’d be this many!”

“They  _ dug _ most of these tunnels, I’m surprised there aren’t  _ more _ than this!” Horus gestured, grabbing ahold of Leman’s burned hand and pulling him to his side. “I tried to tell you, this chamber had to be sealed for the crystals to form, so something must have dug the tunnels into it! They have the home ground."

Leman shifted his grip on his sword. "They're still just beasts," he muttered weakly, trying to divert the conversation away from his own stupid mistake.

Surprisingly, Horus didn't take offense; then again, he had been quite passive all along. Instead, he smiled, shifting his own sword and turning until he and Leman were back to back and shoulder to shoulder.

"Don’t run off on your own, alright?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Leman bit back on reflex. “But fine, I’ll protect you."

He thought he heard Horus mutter "not what I meant", but, as if by some unvocalized signal, the Underfangs swarmed them and then they were fighting.

_ Kraken _ cut deep, it’s hybrid steel undulled and undeterred as it cleaved through muscle and bone alike, it’s length keeping the hordes at bay. His scalded hand ached as he forced it to grip the hilt, using a two-handed grip as the sword was truly intended.

All the while, Horus’ short sword was a flickering tongue of pale gold, stabbing and severing vital points in a precise economy of movement that ensured that his side of the growing circle of dead was just as thoroughly guarded. That was also in part because his off-hand was not idle; many times Horus grabbed limbs as leverage to bring his blade in for a killing strike, or simply snapped the limb in question.

Underfangs kept coming, the two brothers kept up the equally relentless pace and the arena of scattered corpses grew. In fact, it was becoming increasingly harder to not step on a leg or tail and resultantly have it buckle underfoot just when they needed stable footing.

But, the crowd started to thin, for no more came from the tunnels. The Underfangs that still lived started to hold back as well, no longer rushing forward indiscriminately but standing their ground in a circle and only attacking when they felt an opportunity.

"Some of them are already wounded," Horus frowned, taking advantage of the more relaxed pace to give voice to his observations. "There, those ones near the back, on your left."

"I smell it," Leman agreed. "Burnt flesh and fur. That's why they're angry."

"That's why they haven't thrown everything they have at us; they're fighting on two fronts."

“So it’s down to who’s going to cut and run first; you running?”

Horus cut down another one. “I promised you I wouldn’t.”

More of the screeching howls echoed out of the tunnels. The two Primarchs immediately had a moment of foreboding; that more Underfangs were coming.   
  


Instead, it was the opposite. The Underfangs loosely circling them backed up, keeping eyes on their opponents as they edged towards the tunnel mouths, before turning tail and running into the dark.

One breath, two, they listened. But they were gone. 

Just as Horus was about to wipe his sword clean and sheathe it, Leman ran straight for the passageway. “Come on! Hurry up!” 

Biting back what sounded like a particularly vile curse but in words he didn’t understand, Horus dashed after him, easily catching up as Leman’s pace slowed. “What are you  _ doing _ ?”

Leman blinked at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “We came down here for a reason, remember? We’re gonna find the Ancient’s sky-ship and bring stuff back from it for our Father.”

“Look, it’s a nice idea and yes, old tech is the sort of thing he’d appreciate, but, Leman…” Horus put a hand on his shoulder. “We- You don’t need to do this.”

“What?” Leman scoffed. “I did this sort of thing all the time! Go out, hunt down something interesting and bring it back for Jarl Thengir and everyone else to admire. There’s  _ nothing _ on Fenris I can’t take down!”

“Maybe so, but there’s a whole galaxy out there Leman, and it wants to kill you. You can’t fight it alone.”

“Why not? Like I said, I’m not  _ stupid _ ; Father obviously made us to fight. Hunt and fetch. Same thing I’ve done all my life.”

Horus frowned. “Leman, I never implied you were stupid, you just wouldn’t lis-”

“I never really had a choice about what I am, did I? All my life, wondering if I was human or wolf or something Maleficar and all this time I was just a dog; if it can’t bite, it’s good for nothing.” Leman lifted his gaze and glared at him with suspiciously shiny eyes.   
“You promised to stay with me. I’m going into these tunnels and killing every last Underfang and Nightganger in these mountains if I have to, and it’s your choice if you break your promise or not.”

“I don’t break promises,” Horus said resolutely. “I’m going with you, and we’re doing this, but when we get out of here we are talking and you are listening to me.”

They both began walking, swords still drawn.

It wasn’t long before a familiar smell hit them.

“Burnt flesh and fur,” Horus noted grimly. “Out of curiosity, but mostly concern, do you know how long we have until this entire island erupts?”

“Not for a few days, but eruptions on Asaheim are actually very mild,” Leman shrugged. “Can’t be what burned the Underfangs either; why would they try to fight a magma flow? Besides, it’s too cool down here for that. Could be a very early nest of Drakes though?”

“I’m going to pretend I haven’t already guessed what Drakes are,” Horus said flatly as he jumped down a shallow ledge and rounded a sharp bend in the tunnel, where he paused suddenly. “Though, speaking of Fenrisian wildlife, do Nightgangers frequently set things on fire?” 

Leman jumped down the ledge as well and looked over Horus’ shoulder.

A gaunt, twisted humanoid corpse, it’s flesh bitten and shredded, lay entangled with the equally dead lupine form of an Underfang. Except that the Underfang had had it’s face charred off. 

What facial fur hadn’t been reduced to sizzling wet charcoal sloughing off bone was still weakly guttering with a shimmery blue-violet flame that, even as they watched, fizzled out with a final plaintive, almost pleading, hiss.

“Never heard of them doing that before,” Leman shrugged. “That fire, though...feels wrong. Like Maleficarum. Good thing the Underfangs are killing them, huh?”

Horus just looked pensive, lips pursed thinly. “Yeah. Let’s make this quick though. Last thing we need is for either group to win and come after us. At least we’re close now.” The metal embedded in the walls was no longer fragmented, but were starting to look like corridors, albeit warped and buckled, coated in slime and mucus-like stalactites.

Though as they progressed, the organic residue lessened drastically and metal dominated, though still creased and corroded from thousands of years of burial in volcanic rock. Water still dripped boiling hot through fissures, pooling in depressions in the floor. 

Horus noted that whatever lumen strips there had been had not survived the test of time. Or that maybe the Ancients hadn’t used them at all and preferred another sort of technological wonder to light their halls?   
The Fenrisians were almost feudal in level though, save for a few primitive steam-engines and a small pocket of metal-workers. The planetary instability just didn’t permit normal industrialisation in any way. Geological issues aside, the division in tech was utterly complete; had nothing been saved or salvaged after the colonists fled the ship? Only stories and nothing else, it seemed, and even those were couched in the mystique and gravitas of legend.   
It was truly horrifying, what the Age of Strife had done. The ship must have contained Enginseers and other skilled men and women in addition to the average layperson expecting to settle as a regular citizen. That none of that knowledge had been passed on or preserved was...unsettling.

The same sort of unsettling that his gut instinct and paranoia was insisting still pervaded these very walls. Walls daubed with meandering scribbled glyphs like the frettings of madmen that Leman was inspecting curiously.

“Can you read them?” Horus asked tentatively.

Leman absently scratched his head. “Sort of; runes are all oddly distorted. Someone from Thunderfist Clan, I think, but it just turns into random runes after a short bit. No grammar whatsoever. I guess they must have turned into a Nightganger and gone mad.” His face lit up though, as he dragged Horus by the shoulder over to the next corner in the corridor. “Look! I found the entrance though!”

Horus let himself be towed, eager in spite of his apprehension and already-grown annoyance at Leman’s casual disregard of him throughout this entire misadventure.

And indeed, there was a large bulkhead with the door crumpled open. Beyond, in dull flickering light, Horus could just make out the lines of gantries and the echoing caverns of chambers designed for he knew not what purpose.

There were also a few more humanoid corpses laying broken and savaged about the door, but that was not what sent an immediate spike of adrenaline through Horus’ body, slamming his every organ into a battle-ready state.

Carved above the door, into the door, and in the walls between them and the door, was a symbol.

Now he knew exactly why the colonists had fled the ship so suddenly, so totally.

The mark of a circle cradled in a twisted crescent leered down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no


	7. mannaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leman, poking Horus with a stick: haha why u such a bitch
> 
> Leman, five minutes later: oh fuckohfuck o h f u c k

“You _want to know what stole you and your brothers, but I will not tell you everything my son. However, just as we have allowed the highest-ranked Astartes to know, so I am telling you now. Horus, if you see any of these symbols, you leave immediately. You do not touch them, study them, draw them or take them with you.”_

* * *

“Leman, get away from that door.”

Leman paused, one foot already inside the doorframe. “What’s wrong? There’s no traps or anything, I did check.”

“We’re leaving. Now.” Horus’ voice was taut with a false, low calm.

Why? They were so close, it was right there! And Horus had promised to do this with him; was he backing out at the last second?  
“Are you scared?” He sneered, more out of hurt than anything.

“Leman, _brother_ . We are _both_ leaving. We have to; it’s too dangerous now. Look at the symbols all around us!”

Leman glanced around at the odd crescent-shapes. “What about them? They’re just carvings.”

“Remember that I said that all of us were stolen? It’s the mark of one of those who did it.”

What was Horus trying to say? That this was a lair; that the kidnappers had been on Fenris, under Leman’s nose, this entire time? That he could have had a family this whole time if not for the wretches right in front of him?  
“All the more reason to go in there and wreak havoc then!”

Eyes wide and mouth grim, Horus shook his head minutely, his grip on the hilt of his sword white-knuckled. “It’s too dangerous!”

Leman couldn’t hold back a scoff. Danger? What did his _brother_ know of danger? He knew the sword, knew how to kill, that was plain. But feeling helpless, overwhelmed, that nothing you did would ever be good enough to save you from being the _other_ , the beast in a too-small human skin that was tearing at the seams? To get up and keep trying anyway.  
“I told you, there’s nothing on Fenris that can match me; I’m in a league of my own!”

And Horus just stood there with that soft, warm look on his face, because he'd followed Leman down here like Leman mattered more than the uncanny, uncaring force of nature everyone had always treated him as.

"Not anymore."

“What, you?!” Leman sneered, _snarled_ , incredulously before he could stop himself.

Horus actually looked affronted now, jaw muscles tensing as his jaw clenched, brow not quite furrowed but focused.  
“What’s that supposed to mean? We’re both Primarchs, we’re the same.”  
  
But some morbid, rabid curiosity urged Leman to stab away at that rapidly-thinning polish of civility with ever sharper implements. He wanted, _needed_ , to know what kind of beast Horus was under that carefully maintained human skin.

“Oh, we might be kin, but we’re not the same. You’re soft, cowardly, always hanging back and making excuses. If we were truly made to fight, then where’s your spine?”

“Are manners and kindness that strange a concept to you? I should be asking why you’re so impulsive and bloodthirsty, never listening to me even when I’m trying to help you!” Words clipped, but fraying underneath into a growling tone as shoulders shifted, upper lip twitched in an aborted snarl.

So close. Like hunting, baiting the beast in anticipation for the teeth and claws, but this time it felt more real; anticipation thinning his blood and thickening his air until it’s heady and rich like mjod burning at the back of his throat.

Horus’ willingness to follow Leman was nice, of course, the company of an equal was something he had only ever dreamed of, but that was the problem.  
  


As much as the thought, the idea of family, kin, purpose, _brother_ sang in his bones, Horus…

Why was Horus like this? Why didn’t he stand his ground? How could Leman respect someone who wouldn’t even fight for himself?

Well, if not going through this door and exacting due revenge on their kidnappers meant so much to him, maybe that would be the final push.  
Grinning rebelliously, Leman deliberately took another step, standing inside the doorframe and theatrically spreading his arms. Inviting his brother.  
“Impulsive? Maybe I just don’t need your help. Whatever’s through this door, I’m sure I can handle it.”

The response was...disappointing.

All of the tension drained out of Horus, shoulders slumping as he took half a step back as if considering turning away entirely. Jaw still clenched, but chin up; looking Leman dead on as if pleading.

“Leman. Brother.”

Oh. The look in his eyes was all wrong and he hadn’t stepped back at all but braced himself-

Horus’ fist thudded into the base of Leman’s ribcage, driving the air from his lungs and the unexpected impact bending him double over his brother’s arm. Even as he grasped at said arm, Leman felt a hand rake his scalp and grab him by the hair, wrenching his head up until his watering eyes met Horus’ ones. And they were _blazing_. 

Leman’s hackles rose in challenge, ready to put his brother back into place. Unable to stop himself baring a sharp-toothed smile in glee; this was what he had been waiting for!

Though, Horus was no Kraken, and kept to clean, economical strikes. Methodical, predictable. This would not take long, or that much effort, surely?

  
Only for Horus to capitalize on that mistaken assumption and slam his forehead into Leman’s face, hard; Leman was seeing lights behind his eyes and nothing had hit him that hard since he’d been thrown into that glacier, and his vision corrected just in time for Horus to do it again, and once more.  
Dimly aware that hot, slick blood was running down his face, Leman took advantage of the impacts stunning Horus just as much as him and grabbed for his throat.

Horus changed tactics and used his grip in Leman’s hair to bash his head against the wall and Leman’s outstretched fingers missed their target and raked Horus’ shoulder instead, ripping fabric and raising bloody welts. A steel-toed, thick-soled boot smashed down on one of Leman’s leather, insulated, _unreinforced_ ones and something cold lurched in his stomach as he felt bones crack, flesh split and a throb of already-sticky blood.  
Not from pain but because Horus’ face sported a sneering grimace, teeth gritted, determination carved into his features with the rivulets of dried-black blood. There was nothing soft about him anymore. Was this what Thengir and the others had seen, returning to the Vulture Clansmen slaughtered in the snow and Leman grinning red in tooth and claw?

“I am Primarch Horus Lupercal, sixteenth son of the Emperor of Mankind, Gene-sire of the Sixteenth Legiones Astartes,” he snarled. Love and loathing and fear and rage, and pride that was bleeding-raw fresh.  
“Is this what you want?! For me to prove myself in blood and fury?

Horus’ hand, once a fist driving Leman’s breath from his lungs, was now lightly digging into the crease between thigh and stomach, with it’s own sharp nails, ready to spill the ropes of his intestines and his arteries onto the unforgiving ground.

Leman dug his claws deeper into the flesh of Horus’ arm, fresh blood welling up momentarily before even that started to clot. But if he tried, he could rip the entire arm off at the shoulder; not entirely and certainly not cleanly, but he could. And he could survive his guts getting ripped open. Probably. Not like that had ever happened to him before for him to know for sure.

Stalemate.

_That_ had definitely never happened before; even the Kraken had lost an arm and only scratched Leman up, if one didn’t count being not-drowned.  
Could Horus breathe water too, since they were the same?

Wait, no, they really were the same, weren’t they? Nobody and nothing had ever trapped him in a stalemate before, ever argued back at him instead of shrinking away, ever treated him like a-

person.

This whole time...Horus had never used _brother_ like an obligation, a leash with which to drag Leman around like Thengir had used _son_. 

He had said brother like _I want to be_ , had said it like _come home with me_.

Had said it like _I will protect you_. Then beat him bloody to prove it.

Leman huffed ruefully; it wasn’t like he could hold a grudge over it, not when he’d been goading Horus for that very reaction this whole time.  
He carefully lifted his claws from Horus’ arm.  
  


The grip of his hair loosened in turn, Horus’ eyes questioningly searching Leman’s face.  
“Are you listening to me now?”

Oh right, the whole 'danger' thing. 

Well, no, it wasn't. Not entirely. Leman had ignored every one of Horus' concerns since he'd taken one look at him, broke his nose and decided he wasn't worth listening to before dragging him along on a hunt just to satisfy his own self-righteousness.

Leman had publicly renounced Thengir for doing pretty much the same things to him; Horus was well within his rights to strike him.

Leman had no desire to be like Thengir. That was something he was sure of.  
“Yeah,” he answered, still conscious that Horus could gut him at any moment if he so pleased. “I’m listening, brother.”

Horus’ eyes no longer blazed, but they were just as sharp and cutting as they stared into his, searching for something.  
Then suddenly they were warm again; Horus withdrawing his hand from Leman’s thigh just long enough for him to relax. Before he was suddenly pulled forward via the loose hold Horus still had on his head, into something warm and firm that made him tense up again.

It took him a second to realise that Horus was hugging him. “Why?”

“Because you need it? Mostly because you just got through your thick skull what I’ve been trying to tell you the entire day.”

“My foot hurts,” Leman complained reflexively, diverting from the fact that yes, he had been a spiteful self-centered bastard to someone who’d done nothing to deserve it apart from being too nice and patient.

“You’ve got another foot, you’ll be fine,” Horus muttered sweetly, tightening the hug for just a second before letting go.

“I’ll _tell Father_ ,” Leman sing-songed in a sudden rush of petty glee that he _had_ a Father who cared about him. Immense and equally petty satisfaction filled him as Horus abruptly froze, then coughed awkwardly.

  
"Let me have a look at your foot; I can bind it up for you.”

Blood had stuck the leather to his skin as it dried, and Leman let out a hiccough of pain as it tugged at the still-raw patches as Horus pulled his boot off.  
“Anything that _was_ fractured looks like it’s healed now, but you have a few dislocated toe bones.”

“ _Thank you_ for those.”

“You’re _welcome_. Count to three for me?”

“Um? One, tw- oww! You said _three_!”

“Stopped you tensing up. What, you’ve never popped a joint before?”

Leman opened his mouth to throw the question right back in Horus’ face, but stopped. “Pretty sure my shoulder went at least once.” Kraken. Being underwater had cushioned most impacts but things had gotten dicey when it had been scraping him against the glacier. “Fixed that one myself while on the go, but that’s different; because I was expecting it.”

“Fair enough,” Horus shrugged. “Are you alright to walk on your foot as it is? Because unless you’ve got bandages on you I can’t bind it up. I didn’t exactly pack with a battle in mind.”

Flexing his toes experimentally, Leman reached for his boot. “Eh, should be good. Swelling should be gone in an hour or so.”

“Good, because we’re still leaving.” Horus was shifting uncomfortably, looking-but-not-looking at the symbols all around them. “We _have_ to let Father know about this and I am _not_ letting you in this place, because I refuse to lose the brother I only _just got back_ , do you hear me? Listen to me when I say that this is something we cannot, should not, fight! “

“I do listen to you,” Leman protested quietly as he eased himself to his feet. “Well, except for, uh, all of today but...yeah, you’ve already given me what I deserved for that.”

“You are _infuriating_ .” Horus bit out. “Leman, there are only twenty Primarchs in existence, including us. And for my entire life until now, I’ve been alone too. Yes, we were made to fight, but the Ancients gave your wolf brothers fangs and claws for the same reason. To survive against greater odds. You don’t need to prove yourself Leman,” Horus seemed to pause, before taking a deep breath.  
“It was always part of you, this greatness. We’re already proud of you; you just need to accept it.”

“You quoted that last part didn’t you?” Leman asked sardonically.

Horus let out a half-defeated, half-aggravated sigh. “Yes. Constantine said it to me a few days ago. Hey, are you alright?”  
Leman had shuddered and turned away slightly, subtly bracing himself against the wall.

“‘M fine.” His voice was hoarse and sticky for a second, before he cleared his throat. “But since you took the chance to introduce yourself properly just now, s’pose I should do the same.” He turned back and held himself straight.

“I am Leman of the Russ Clan, Named Lord of Winter and War, son of the Emperor of Mankind.” A crooked, shy, half-smile as he held out his hand. “Primarch. Brother to Horus Lupercal.”

Horus took it solemnly, but with a smile of his own.  
“Now let’s go back.”

The corpses of the Underfangs were gone when they arrived back at the cavern with the pool. The ground was still stained red and scraps of fur and bone remained, but the piles of bodies that Horus and Leman had made were nowhere to be seen. Horus was about to comment on the oddity to Leman, when he was violently interrupted by a snarling roar from just up ahead.

**“HORUS SEDECIM AUGUSTUS LUPERCAL!”**

The sound reverberated around the cavern and tunnels as a golden figure stalked into view and all blood drained from Horus’ face. “Hello, Constantine…”

“Better you than me,” Leman muttered.

**“LEMAN SEXTUS AUGUSTUS RUSS!”**

“Uh oh. Wait, I have a middle name?”

Constantine broke into a run and within a few seconds was crouched in front of them. _“You’re covered in blood, how were you injured?”_ He barked, in Gothic.

Ah, right. Both of their faces had dried blood on them and Horus’ tunic was torn, never mind what Underfang blood still remained.

_“Leman was being a reckless idiot!”_ Horus replied hurriedly, unashamedly throwing his brother under the tank because family means nothing and all kindness is a lie and there is naught to turn to but treachery when you are faced with Constantine Valdor breathing threat and murder.

Leman may not have understood Gothic, but he heard his name and Horus’ pointing finger made it very clear what had just been said. Self-consciously shrinking back in on himself as Constantine’s focus shifted whole-sale onto him, he leaned closer to Horus.

“Traitor,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth because was this Constantine really the one he had been interested in challenging to a fight before? “It’s your fault for not beating me up sooner, Horus.”

Horus glared back at him in irritation, wide-eyed in deliberate incredulity, before stepping forward and putting his hand on Constantine’s.

_“Constantine, please, we’re fine. Leman and I had an argument and the local wildlife attacked us but it was nothing we couldn’t handle together.”_

Constantine uncoiled slightly, the atmosphere of dread lessening. _“You should not have strayed from where I left you,”_ he rumbled. _“An active volcano, and you…’”_ He sighed, shaking his head. _“Your Father was able to sense that both of you were well until I could find another path in, though that was all he was able to do for a time. Do you have any idea how worried we were?!”_

_“Constantine,”_ Horus was deadly serious now. _“Yell at us later; we need to go, we need to get back to Father now. We found something.”_

(oOo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Custodes Lavinius Regalian(up in Fenris' orbit on the original exploratory ship): *sips tea* I wonder if Constantine is having a nice relaxing time?
> 
> Constantine: *Internal Screaming*
> 
> Hopefully just one more chapter to tie up some of the loose ends and then we should be done!


	8. kaunaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finale! Or maybe just a To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Fenrisian Lore!  
> (and a real Norse myth, by the way)

Ammagrimgul was one of the Seven Great Peaks of Asaheim that separated the legendary Valley of the World Mother from the rest of the Land of The Gods. In particular, it was the revered mountain of the now-diminished Vulture Clan, as it sheltered their sacred Valley of Burning Stones in its crevices. Said Valley was also why no others had dared challenge the Vultures for the land when the Time of Ice and Fire was over; living in a grave dedicated in fire and pain to gods you did not cleave to was beyond foolish.

Was.

Ammagrimgul lit up into a soaring inferno; a column of fire reaching up to the sky, scorching the clouds dry and connecting heaven and earth. Air was drawn in by the immense heat, pulling small pieces of debris with it that combusted once they made contact with the radiating corona of light. The sky above began to darken and flicker into an electrical storm, the air at ground level gaining a heavy weight and a static tingle.

Flashes of colour vomited into the air in explosive starbursts as gas pockets ignited. Snowcaps boiled, splitting the crags in which they had rested for thousands of years, vacuum and steam shrieking and popping and clawing at the slopes like the mountain was screaming and writhing in disembowelment.

The magma itself was drawn up into the convection, spun and scattered into strands that supercooled into delicate stone lattices and promptly shattered into shining razor shards. They in turn joined the whirling orbits of debris already increasing exponentially in size and number as the mountain was macerated with extreme prejudice, chewed into atoms and burned up in Warpfire.

Cinders drifted down, sparking as they came within the shimmer of heat and orbiting around them like dying stars as stray blinks of fire fizzled out into the snow.

“Whoa,” Leman muttered faintly, ashen-faced. He was crouched in the snow, arms around Freki and Geri where they were frantically burrowing into him, ears pinned back flat and whining shrilly.

While Leman was focused on the destruction, Horus instead kept his eyes fixed on Constantine standing over them.

Power armour made reading body language difficult, especially with a helmet. But with enough practice, and Horus had plenty, it was clear that Constantine was doing the nervous jitter that happened when there was Something Wrong and he didn’t know how to help. And Constantine was keeping his own gaze fixed on the distant silhouetted figure of Father.

Maybe Horus was reading too much into it; maybe it was the display of power holding Constantine’s attention.

Regardless, it was good that the caverns were being destroyed. It was just...well, Horus wished that the Dark Age ship could have been preserved. But ‘if wishes were gold then every beggar would wear a crown’ as Ra would say. And if the Archnemesis had been infesting it for that long, then it was for the best that it burned.

At least Leman hadn’t gone in.

“It worked out, then?”

Constantine. Though, Horus had the feeling he wasn’t referring to the inferno in the distance...oh.

“Yes, we...I think Leman and I are...settled, now.”

“How many tries did it take?”

Horus rolled his eyes. “How many verbal tries or how many times I had to punch him?” 

“Oh dear.” Despite the non-committal disapproval, the vox-distorted voice carried a tinge of amusement. 

Seizing the initiative, Horus asked his question. “Is something wrong with Father? He seemed...tense when we told Him about the caverns. Did something happen while we were gone?”

Constantine went very, very silent. And then… “I cannot say.”

“Why?”

“Because I do not know the specifics myself. It was psychic in nature and demanded much of His strength; otherwise he would have retrieved you two himself.”

The mountain was gone, replaced by a lake of glittering slag which steamed as it returned to solid stone. A glass plateau marbled in green, black, teal and red, ringed by twisted colonnades of scoria spindled high and cooled by the now-dying winds. Erasmus Fire hissed blue and serpentine around them, and around the slowly approaching figure of Father.

  
If Father could do  _ that _ with so little effort,  _ what _ had he done and why?

(oOo)

The two of them made it back to the private master suite of the Vengeance Class Cruiser  _ Light Spinner _ , before the Emperor of Mankind threw up in the sink of the washroom.

Constantine could do nothing to help.

_ ‘Psychic pain can manifest as physical distress.’ _

He cannot help.   
He can only stay by His side and attend to trivial things; holding His hair back and fetching a glass of water. Then letting his Lord lean on him as he guides Him to a chair, because He is swaying, stiff and unbalanced, as He walks.

“Seventeen vessels have successfully recovered their course,” Constantine’s Lord murmurs to himself, voice rough. “Twenty-nine destroyed and ten of them with cargo. I don’t know how many damaged.” He presses the cool glass to his forehead, breathing carefully.

This is grave news. Depending on what ships were affected, it could be disastrous. But there is no changing what has already come to pass.   
“Are you well?” Constantine asks. His Lord is haggard of face, eyes creased with weariness. The same as he had when creating the Primarchs, but that had not caused pain.

“I am a  _ fool _ , for one.” His tone lilts in bitter self-accusation. “The father of a fool, as well. I am as well as can be expected, I suppose.”

That does not tell Constantine anything, because he does not know enough to expect anything. Should he ask for details? No no, that would be too forward when his Lord is this exhausted.    
“Horus suspected you were not yourself; I told him only that it was psychic in nature. He accepts that much for now. If-” Constantine cannot help on this battlefield and there is no Sister of Silence onboard, if that would even be what was needed.   
“If there is anything I can do?...”

There is a soft, awed sort of incredulity in the answering glance. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you, my friend. Are you not angry?”

He is. But not at Magnus, not really. The third time, or the fourth if he counted the Scattering, that the Ruinous Powers had tried to approach a Primarch; and this time they had  _ succeeded _ .    
But. Not entirely. They have options.    
  


Which is better than all the nightmare scenarios that rampage through his head, calculations of death tolls, supply lines devastated, technological collapse, mass uprisings, Corruption, Warp Storms, the Emperor  _ dead _ -

“Can I not just be glad that you are both alive and safe?”

“ _ Safe? _ ” The water glass cracks, then dissolves in a fizzle of static into molecular components along with it’s contents.

It is inconsequential. It is ignored.

“What needs to be done?” Constantine urges. Normally he would treasure the chance to just  _ be _ with his liege and friend, but not in this case. Measures must be taken and those should be something he can actually aid with.

“Two years. That...yes, I can work with that. Start the Fourth Legion on building the Astronomicon as soon as possible, possibly draft some workgroups from the Seventh. It won’t be done in two years, not even close, would still take thirteen to fifteen years, supplies depending, but the sooner I can consolidate and broadcast my psychic signature the better.

For now though, recall all of the Fifteenth legion to Terra; I expect they have been compromised. And then bring me the Eighth.”

(oOo)

“The Hel is that?!”

Vigil bleeped plaintively as it was set roughly bobbing in mid-air, thrusters desperately whining to re-orientate it.

Horus slapped Leman’s poking finger away. “Don’t! It’s a servo-skull, it...it’s an assistant, Vigil here helps me keep track of all my work.”

“It’s still alive?”

“Well, depending on whether you count Machine Spirits as living things, then, yes?”

“The Spirit of the skull’s person, or Possession?” Leman asked, looking more than a little tense.

“No, not Possession, definitely not. Not someone’s ghost either, but...look, learn to speak and read Gothic and I’ll dig up what treatises I can find on Machine Spirits because I don’t know the best way to explain it and  _ I am trying to change my tunic _ and I haven’t even gotten a single button undone yet so if you can _ not do anything _ for two minutes?!”

Leman exaggeratedly pursed his lips and folded his arms, raising his eyebrows in begrudging acknowledgment. As Horus plucked at the line of buttons on his torn tunic, he let his gaze return to drifting about the room.

He had been assured that the massive sky-ship was a small one and the quarters only temporary. But on Fenris, ‘small’ and ‘temporary’ meant a shallow-bottomed skiff for hunting and gathering along a stretch of coastline and a small fake cave in a corner of the hold made out of draped canvas, furs and often on top of whatever cargo might have already been collected.

Here on the sky-ship that matched a small Kraken in size, it meant running water with a latrine, a bed big enough for two people, rugs on the floor, lights set in the ceiling and cupboards for storing clothes. One of which Horus was now rummaging through, having discarded his damaged garment on the bed with the grey fur laid more carefully to one side and-

“What did  _ that _ to you?” Leman blurted out. The scar... _ scars _ , were old and long healed, but it looked like he had been impaled through the torso, up through the ribcage and out just below the shoulder blade. 

"Oh, these?" Horus shrugged. "These are from how I was found; I was mistaken for some feral mutant and got shot. They realised who and what I was when I didn't die. All worked out in the end though and I healed up just fine.”

Leman couldn’t really think of anything to say to that.   
“I didn’t think you were  _ that _ ugly.”

Horus choked on a snort of laughter as he pulled on a fresh tunic. It was different from the ripped brown one. Pale grey, with slinking open-mouthed wolves in ivory thread crawling on the cuffs and hunting a crescent moon. 

Leman found it startlingly familiar. “Why do you wear the  _ Vlka Ginnungka _ ?”

“The what?”

Leman reached forward and tapped at Horus’ wrist where the embroidery was picked out. “ _ Vlka Ginnungka _ ; the Wolves Who Stalk the Abyss Between the Heavens is Old Fenrisian lore.”

“Fenris has legends _ about Space Wolves _ ?” Horus repeated, a note of disbelief creeping into his voice.

“Are they real?” Leman asked, undeniably curious.

“Well, no, though Void Whales and Void Kraken exist. And I’m not wearing them for a Fenrisian legend, they’re part of my Legion’s heraldry. They earned it for their ferocity and tactics when they conquered the moon of Luna.”

“Not for yourself? But you move and talk like one, at times.”

“That’s because I used to hunt them, before I was found. I ate wolves,” Horus stated flatly, waiting for Leman to recoil. Not expecting him to smirk.

“So? If anything, means you fit the legend even better.”

“How so?” Horus’ interest was piqued.

“A Mother of Monsters birthed many sons, creatures in the forms of Wolves. Two of them lead their brothers, Hati the Hateful Enemy and Skoll the Mocking Traitor. They lead their pack through the Abyss Between the Heavens in pursuit of the Moon and Sun, always hungry and never satisfied.    
When the Time comes, Hati will devour the Moon and Skoll the Sun.    
Then the stars shall be thrown burning from the sky as, without a purpose, the Wolves will turn on each other and eat the flesh of the living and the dead until nothing is left but the Heavens smeared red with blood.”

“Alright, so my Legion ‘ate’ a moon and I’ve eaten wolves. It fits, I’ll give you that. But if I’m Hati, does that make you Skoll?”

“Never eaten a wolf in my life and I’m not about to start now.” Leman said defensively, Freki and Geri lying comfortably at his feet.

"You were raised by wolves though, weren't you? That counts, surely?

"Definitely. Probably bad luck to call myself Skoll though, but, what was it you said? Space Wolf? That sounds good to me, seeing as I fell from the sky and all.

You should use the name Managarm, the Moon Hound, if you want to wear the symbol of Hati. Don't want bad luck, do you?"

"Bit late for that," Horus snorted, putting a hand on his side where his scar was. "Guess how I got my name."

"How?"

"I was a feral child dressed in wolfskin living in an abandoned mine and far too fast and strong for my age. So the gangs started telling stories about the ' _ horrusci _ ’; vengeful shape shifting spirits, warning people away. I overheard, but didn’t fully understand what they were saying at the time.”

“And you thought…?” Leman started wheezing with laughter.

“...yes.”

“Your name is  _ Vengeful Spirit _ !”

“I am  _ aware _ . I was barely a month old!”

“Yes, yes but...you’re so lucky that you didn’t pick up any other word! Chair? Window?” 

“OH THIS IS GOING TO BE A  _ LONG _ TRIP HOME, ISN’T IT?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	9. Portraiture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art for Horus and Leman


End file.
